


Filing her nails while they’re dragging the lake

by s_t_c_s



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: A hipster hatted barman, A soupçon of angst, Alternate Universe, An extremely light glaze of Ruby/annie fake relationship if you squint, Anti tall propaganda, Ass Play, BAMF Beth Boland, BDE (Big Divorce Energy), Beth gets way too into a role play situation, Beth is ridiculous but also proactive, Control Freaks, Does contain vague Dean, F/M, FUCKING NERDS, Feet, Fluff, Generalised misandry, I mean if a ridiculous bombshell angrily slammed into your life what would you do huh, Implied past coffee spillage at inopportune moment, Implied/referenced Veronica Mars watching, Infidelity, It's basically medieval darling, Light Bondage, Lingerie, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, POV Rio (Good Girls), Rio basically can't get a word in edgeways (and he loves it), Rio has an uninspired approach to naming a business, Rio is judgey but also observant, Rio thinks everyone else's kids are less interesting than his, Role-Playing Game, Sex, Terrible manners, They both think the other is a terrible actor (maybe cos they spend too much staring??), They're both over the age of 35, Unprotected Sex, a lil light edging, anal sex discussion/fantasy, catching a COUPLE of feelings, fairly unimpressive communication skills, idiots who don't entirely understand phone sex, implied past arguing over blankets, lil bit of like a mess kink sitch, meeting the friends, mentions of past spanking, role play, some voyeurism/exhibitionism vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22214353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_t_c_s/pseuds/s_t_c_s
Summary: AU: Beth has a gross, philandering husband, but no concrete proof of his infidelities. So she hires a private investigator.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 98
Kudos: 275





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The only AU I've managed so far was, like, violent and vampiric so I wanted to try something lighter! Also, Dean can choke.

He’s about to knock.

It’s a generic-looking door he’s confronted with, one attached to a cookie-cutter house, in a _real_ white bread burb. The only thing much distinguishing this place from its identic neighbours is the front yard; that’s blossoming, well-tended – ripples out signs of heartfelt care. Not what you get from pro landscaping, it ain’t all perfect smoothed lines and balanced corners. Whoever ministers to it does so with love, don’t fear getting their hands good and dirty along the way.

There’s clues to kids being involved too, a deep-planted fairy, that tellingly slimed rockery. Those giveaways are kinda cute, tug Rio with a teeny not-quite-guilt-but-close thread, towards Marcus. Cos their otherwise ideal apartment lacks a proper space of this sort. But the two of ‘em have house plants and the near-constant joy of local parks. Plus an additional reason to go visiting family, though the opportunity to run about a big ol’ garden can pale against getting _that_ fed.

And Rio’s got other, work, stuff to focus on right now, so he raises his fist, tryna narrow his mental scope back down. Before his knuckles can make contact though, the door opens – with abrupt jerks initially, then refining closer to the commonplace. It reveals – an explicitly _womanly_ form. One built off some particularly inspired blueprint, sensuous and vehement, no matter how she might attempt to avoid attention. The trappings are staunchly normal, practical even – sweater, jeans, sensible boots. Not that Rio’s ever afforded much in the way of trust to people that wear _shoes_ in the comfort of their own home.

Something about her though – this dramatic reception, the way she’s swaying a glass of what looks to be whisky at an angle – not _actually_ spilling but threatening in that direction, the imperious flair to her eyeballing – says there’s more to this person than simply a desire to blend. Canopied by dappling sunlight, it’s a smidge too easy to cast the scene differently, transition her into something silkier perhaps as she leans against the jamb, tilting that vaguely incensed scrutiny his way.

“Oh great,” she says, sarcasm striping so fat through her words that the additional pitching about of her lids and lashes is leagues beyond necessary, “a _man_.”

Rio evades the mild pressure to extricate his phone, re-confirm this as the correct address. He double checked when he was parking, again before starting up the path. He knows he hasn’t made a mistake, that’s never how he rolls. If this chick’s got some kinda problem with him, that’s _hers_. He ain’t gonna stoop to apologising to her for it.

“This a bad time?” Rio throws out, voice firmly neutral. His isn’t the type of job a person oughta do if they can be bent from their shape by others’ feet turning cold, minds going changed.

But her gaze fixes, swipes to his neck to linger at the tattoo there, before meeting his. It’s not exactly with the attitude he’d expect to catch from any denizen of this place – neither discomfort nor confusion, not even intrigue. Instead it lolls nearer – anticipation.

Her head moves slightly, as if she’s shaking herself back to reliable ground, sending those waves ruffling.

“You’re from Eagle Investigations?” It inflects like a question, but she ain’t asking, more musing aloud.

And really – it’s a shoddy approach to self-preservation. Offering up an excuse for entry to a stranger on the doorstep, putting aside that she’s right this instance. He bets she wanders up to random idling cars at the end of a night too, blithely asking any and all if they’re her Lyft. But he bites his tongue, holds the desire to chide hostage. Not his place, for one, and she doesn’t exactly seem in the mood for receiving advice kindly – probably a permanent state for her.

So he just nods, gives her his name. Establishes hers is indeed Elizabeth, like Rach’s notes said. She doesn’t supply a surname, but then he hadn’t either.

She also doesn’t check that he shuts the front door behind him properly, after standing aside to let him in. Sadly she misses Rio’s pointed removal of his sneakers too, but he determines he doesn’t wholly resent performing that to her languidly moving back, as she makes her way further inside. He’s had worse views. When he catches up to her, by her kitchen island, she offers him a drink. Rio finds himself shrugging assent, cos one ain’t gonna hurt, and maybe he needs to kneel to her level in order to successfully conversate.

“Sorry,” this Elizabeth says, in a way that’s not _distinctly_ unapologetic, but lurches hella brisk, “I was expecting someone. Different.” She squints.

“What, Kristen Bell?” he asks.

She doesn’t flinch or gulp how he mighta guessed, no part of her face migrates towards the propped up iPad. It’s more than her getting he clocked what’s paused on its screen; she’s aware of what she’s presenting, always.

“It’s a good show.” There’s a heated patina, but the words have too little bite to be truly defensive.

Rio only mms noncommittally, takes a spiced sip.

Elizabeth reaches out to the tablet, darkens its screen. Persists, unfaltering, ‘bout having spoken to a woman when she called.

“Yeah,” Rio says, with a tolerant almost-smile, “that’s Rach. She pretty much runs the whole joint. But she ain’t the investigator.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth says, imbibing bourbon while drinking him in again.

His jaw twitches as she reshuffles information around her mental stack – clearly weighing him worthier. He perceives she’s pegged him for the owner, and business as successful, somehow, gets a further read on what matters to her too – money, power, and a lack of blatant bragging, he’d wager.

Rio settles properly onto one of her kitschy bar stools, props an elbow on the island’s surface, perpendicular to the direction of his knees. “So,” he begins. “Wanna tell me what this is all about?”

She sighs then flashes an upwards curve of lips – tight.

“I’m sure my husband is... Sleeping around. But I don’t have proof. And I– need some.”

Rio nods slow, before collecting more details – the guy’s name, job, DOB. How long they been married, all that jazz.

“Any particulars you after in the proof department?” Rio asks, pen and notebook still poised.

“Photographs,” she says, rictus pinching toothy and – _savage_.

Rio waits a beat, and Elizabeth, it transpires, is more than glad to fill his space.

“He doesn’t suspect that I, well, suspect. I want to watch his face when I throw down those photos, when he realises I _know_.” Her face is brushed with future triumphs, mischief-bright.

Rio snorts slightly, real _amused_ , maybe slightly vindicated too, by the extreme coldness she’s unconcerned with displaying _._ He’s almost sad he ain’t recording, can’t play it back for the next time his sis calls him too harsh, or them boys go on and on ‘bout him being ruthless and whatnot.

“I usually email.”

Her face – it doesn’t _collapse_. But it rearranges, chin dimpling with the pouting swing of her bottom lip, a crease appearing above the bridge of her nose.

“But sure, I can throw in some glossy print outs if you really want.”

Pleasure tautens her cheeks. “And one of those folders, you know the sort I mean?”

Rio’s honestly unclear if Elizabeth’s joking. Which is kind of an intriguing position, ain’t a lotta people he senses hard to pin.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says, airy, making no promise. He’s gotta chew up the ‘sweetheart’ that insistently tries to tack itself on to the end of his sentence, the free-flowing endearments a habit inherited from his mama. They usually don’t rear around clients, specially ones he’s only just met.

He’s pretty sure Rach’ll have some spare buff Manilas in the back of the big filing cabinet. And if not, whatever, doesn’t matter. Other than indicating it’s probably time to order more.

“You need pics of anything specific though?”

Her face sorta freezes a second then, before her lips press towards each other in bafflement, pink filling in gaps between freckles. He’s got an inkling she might stutter an explanation of sex if he leaves her in silence much longer.

It’s not the least tempting notion, but Rio puffs out a relaxed snicker then adds, “Sometimes pre-nups got real precise language so–” Her look of extreme alarm pauses him however.

She all but yelps, “Oh god!”

Rio raises an eyebrow, lets the motion of his facial features encourage her on.

“I don’t– I don’t have. One of those.” And then it all starts tumbling, how badly her husband’s (inherited) business is doing, that she, with her patisserie, is the major breadwinner. Elizabeth seems almost ashamed – not over admitting the facts, but at the size of her conspiratorial glee at sharing them with him. But then she’s straight panicking, that her husband’ll come for her money, or full custody or–

“Hey,” Rio says, and it’s kinda _cool_ , how quick he can capture her concentration. “ _Breathe_.”

It’s _hella_ obvious Elizabeth’s not thought any of this through, formed a specific visual in her head of a desired destination, then grew hell bent on powering a path there. As someone who prides himself on being organised and meticulous, Rio’s not positive why that doesn’t come close to annoying him. He’s more tickled. That single-minded drive is almost charming, the fiery passion of it strangely captivating – especially melded with the intensely manicured, ice queen shtick she wields.

“You got a lawyer?” he asks.

Before Elizabeth can get too stuck into her mournful head shake, Rio’s digging in his phone case. He soon presents her with one of Gretchen’s business cards; generally has spares hanging about.

He rolls his thumb gently, just a couple turns, at her wrist when he hands it over, tryna calm.

She doesn’t look perturbed by the gesture in the slightest, Elizabeth exhales her, “Thanks.”

Rio mmhmms. And then – he _shouldn’t_ right. He doesn’t know her, and she hardly strikes as sensible, or necessarily discreet.

But he finds himself saying it anyway. “Hey, if things get dicey and you wanna scare him off, I might know a guy who knows a guy. Just gimme a call, yeah?”

Elizabeth’s appraisal flits, catching around shoulders, his lower belly, the bird flying above his collar again. It’s very – obvious.

Rio chokes against a laugh, “Not _me_.”

He only gets a shrug in response to that, as if she conceives him a decent contender for the role.

“Dunno if it’d be great sideline for the rep of the business,” Rio starts. And, see, he was maybe gonna explain further, but Elizabeth's throat buzzes sharp, her head tilting and bobbing in fairly rapid acknowledgement. Damn, it might be a lil _too_ fun, contemplating her jump to comprehension, feathering her there.

Rio sees himself out, after informing Elizabeth he’ll be in touch. The thought of her eyes on his exit stays enjoyable. Could be a little added swagger to his steps, but fuck it. He’s in a bright mood.

*

It’s not difficult to track down the dumbass husband, _Dean –_ god it's labourious to come up with many contenders for a blander name, nor to gather the requisite evidence. The fella’s hardly subtle. Or patient. Or suave.

Dean-o looks to have a thing for twenty-somethings, unassured and credulous. Rio’s not definite whether that’s a true preference, or they’re the only women willing to endure him long enough to pass him the time of day.

This is the kinda shit Rio does on the regular – stakes out, snaps shots. It’s rare for him to go so off-put by anyone, honestly has seen just about everything, but Elizabeth’s husband is slimy enough to cut on through the armouring apathy. It must be _that_ that makes Rio impatient for this part to be done with already.

*

Rach presents him with an unreasonably weird expression when Rio asks for the file, saying he’ll call Elizabeth himself.

Like he’s offended her sensibilities or some shit, when _actually_ he’s helpfully striking a task from her list. But she’s always had a melodramatic bent, threatens, emptily, to quit with unnerving frequency. So he ignores Rach’s nonsense, shuts his office door good and solid.

Rio taps the number into his cell, it’s just _easier_ than operating that clunky desk phone with its inconsistent approach to call volume, cracks a smile at Elizabeth’s excessively polite, “Hello?”

She recognises his voice when he greets her, or maybe it’s the use of her whole name. Rach had written it in parentheses after ‘Beth’ and before ‘Boland’ in her notes, but soon as Rio’d met the woman, he’d discerned any diminutive was ill-suited. Elizabeth’s eye had twitched the fist occasion he’d stretched the sobriquet at her, but she never had corrected him off it.

When Rio tells her he’s got the stuff, she sounds – genuinely pleased. No sighs, not the slightest suggestion of tears. Still, he remains cautious, people process shit differently, at varied speeds. He’s had clients acting cooler than a cucumber initially, falling to a full freakout, as well as vice-versa; has pretty much seen the full gamut of responses to corroborated infidelity.

The two of them form a plan for him to come by the next morning. After hanging up, and a moment of consideration, Rio saves her details to his contacts, adding the name.

*

She opens up before he can knock, again. Rio wonders if that’s something she makes a regular habit of. It’s familiar, the scenario, diverting in its nuanced differences. Elizabeth’s starting from a better mood this go, beamish and perking. And she’s in tee and skirt today, demure in a casual way, rather than dressy. The neckline’s modest – though it’s putting in some effort to remain so against the swell of that chest, sleeves plunging loose and asymmetric towards her elbows, her skirt covers knees and more. Still, it’s a greater abundance of bare skin than previous.

Rio watches fabric swish as he kicks out of his shoes near Elizabeth’s entrance, before following her on in.

She props herself against counter, given the island’s dotted with breakfast detritus currently. Rio ambles to join her and Elizabeth’s curiosity darts, tracking the move of his hips, how his limbs jostle. He’s unsure if its purposeful, whether she’s aware of what she’s doing.

He reaches into the interior pocket of his jacket, extracts and uncurls the file to slap it down. Elizabeth practically _squeals_. Though her face curdles as she flips through its content.

Rio tries to gentle his tone when he asks if it covers what she needs.

It takes a moment for her eyes to ride back up to his, but when they do, they’re clarion. The only sound Elizabeth looses is a discreet hum.

Her posture turns considering. “I suppose you meet a lot of scorned women?”

“And men. Concerned kitten owners of all stripes too.”

She acts as if he hadn’t spoken. “Do they… fawn?”

Rio smirks, tilts one eyebrow, grants his scrutiny of Elizabeth entirely instinctual rein.

He gets a sigh back to that, but it bends nearer to gratified than frustrated. “You must be aware that you’re,” she stumbles oh so briefly before eliciting her watchword, “charming.”

Elizabeth’s volume keeps decreasing. It’s a delightful excuse to slant ever cosier.

“There something you tryna get at?” he asks.

That nod is exceedingly deliberate, as her hand creeps. He’s got a real good idea what's itching at her, despite her apparent reluctance to labelling it.

“Need to get even, that it?”

Elizabeth snorts derisively. “No, I just–” a distraught noise burbles out, only a fool’d take it for genuine laughter. “I’m _bored_. I’ve been bored and unhappy and… And I knew it wasn’t working, I did. But I stayed for the kids and for how it’d look and. Ugh.” She trails off, recollects. Adds, “I’m sorry,” in a much less plaintive style. “You don’t want to hear this.” Her shoulders pull back.

“Nah,” Rio says, “go ‘head.” He’s certain she oughta get it from her chest. And he ain't against listening to her, regarding her, unencumbered by concerns of painting on supposedly wholesome concessions.

“I’m in the mood to celebrate, that’s all. That it’s _over_. That I get to be done.”

It’s a bit like the other day, Elizabeth with a vision in her brain that she _insists_ on bringing to fruition.

“And I’m – grateful,” she tacks on, lively, grazing his thumb with two fingertips.

It’s the way she says it – implying she’s examined her impulses, comprehends ‘em, remains without particular desire to alter herself for it, that strikes at the core of what’s attractive about her. The _rawness_ , fitted to that package. Her skin’s practically vibrating, Rio doubts she’s ever come anywhere close to propositioning a person before, but her sights stay sturdy, she gives no hint of understanding the meaning of backing down from – anything.

“For the record,” Rio says, pitch even, if gravelled, moving his mouth near her ear, “ain’t have a problem if you were after revenge. Just asking ‘bout your frame of mind.” He punctuates that by licking below her lobe.

As his teeth flank Elizabeth’s pulse, whatever she was gonna say transforms to an, “Ohhh.”

“You got a particular location in mind?” Rio tries to predict how he’ll feel if she says bed.

Her response is breathy, “Here – here’s. Fine.”

So he lifts her, the base of both hands high on her thighs, fingers grasping at her ass through cotton. Elizabeth squeaks, but doesn’t flail. Rio deposits her so she’s sitting on the edge of the island, her legs land wide but he spreads ‘em further. She doesn’t bat an eye at the clang of a dropped fork.

His hands stroke her skirt upwards, then Rio drags at the band of her panties, skating them down. They’re laced, animal print, potentially supposed to cover her entire ass.

“It’s um. Been a while.” Elizabeth mutters.

“’Kay.”

“Like. A _while_.” She won’t look at him as she emphasises. His thumbs caress the insides of her thighs till she ain’t intensely inspecting a patch of wall. Then Rio continues the slow descent of her underwear, they flow to the floor round the same instant he shrugs out his jacket.

“Are you–” Elizabeth breaks off with a hollow snort. “I’m, uh. I can’t get pregnant again. And I’m – clean.” She doesn’t make visible air quotes, but Rio heeds where she slides ‘em. “It’s one of the first things I checked when I– Well.”

He flounders internally for a second, before reassuring her likewise. Rio’s motivated to wonder if bareback fucking was a definitive part of this daydream. It’s not that her insinuation is too intimate or sordid or anything, but she’s marching rather ahead of schedule. So he says, “Elizabeth, I’m planning to get you off before my dick ever touches you.”

Her whimper is _excellent_.

“Then I’m gonna tear you apart,” he says conversationally, appreciating her resolute nod. “Yeah, that sound good? Coming on my cock? I want you clenching till you think you can’t no more.”

Elizabeth moans around her, “Okay.” She’s blushing a _fierce_ amount.

He encourages her backwards some, till she’s propped on an elbow, opposite hand gripping the side of the surface. Then he plunks down into one of her ugly stools, shuffles it to the right distance. Rio negotiates her hips how he wishes, dips his head, starts licking at her clit delicately. She’s bucking at even those first couple touches.

Rio can’t help sparing a thought for her moronic husband. It’s one along the lines of: _his fucking loss_.

His tongue glosses lower, investigating her entrance; Rio switches to holding her one-handed, so he can flick her nub with a finger meanwhile. She does an admirable job of maintaining the pose, Rio groans tribute for that into her as he samples. Elizabeth tangs vividly of earth and brine. As he alternates back – suckling intent at her clit and trailing his finger between slick folds but avoiding her opening, he don’t waste the opportunity to observe.

Elizabeth’s head’s tipped back, lids closed, a hand pushed against her mouth. He don’t think she’s tryna stifle herself, though she bites gently at the meat of her palm. It rises, over her forehead, till she’s shifting roots, fingers coiled in her hair. Those deep blue pools flutter unconcealed, her face tilts, lusting to see.

Rio’s hand, the one that ain’t occupied between her thighs, flexes and tightens at her hip, a digit pokes rib and she gasps. Elizabeth’s own hand fondles over her left side, rounds her thigh. It lingers near him, before travelling up, pausing at her belly. When his cheeks re-dent, her petting zooms to her breast and she squeezes, vigorous; her teeth grip air. He notices her fumble, like she’s struggling to get comfortably beneath the cup of her bra.

Her body undulates against him, Elizabeth fucking his mouth with impeccable rhythm. When he laps faster, the entirety of her frame shudders. She jostles at her back, must manage to unclasp, because then her hand comes round front again. She hasn’t pulled up her shirt, he can’t see exactly how she’s grabbing and pinching, but he can _tell_. It’s not that he wouldn’t be happy with more than an eye-full neither, but it’s enjoyably filthy – Elizabeth half-dressed, spearing herself on his tongue, lavishing hidden touches on her chest. She’s having trouble preventing her lashes from meeting, but whenever the rows snap apart again she writhes and moans for him extra.

He’s tempted to prolong, keep her suspended. But then Elizabeth starts seeping pleas, whining gibberish. So he buries first one finger, and another, before a trickier third, inside her in succession, stretching them – and her – wide, as his tongue dabs tantalisingly protracted cycles above. She’s flushed; clammy, respiration gusting.

Elizabeth’s hand fists inside the material of her top, tugging it upwards. That reveals the swell of her breasts, part of her clumsily offset bra. He don’t think she’s doing it on purpose, not for him, making the view scorch the hotter. Her pelvis rocks itself, fucking her down onto his fingers. He sincerely wouldn’t be surprised if Elizabeth draws blood, the way she’s gnawing at her bottom lip.

Rio sucks hard, harder, and her abdomen visibly spasms. He hears his name twice as she comes, quiet but clear. Both times it’s snapped into a pair of real _distinct_ syllables.

He lets up as Elizabeth flitters back down, mostly cos of how she shivers, overwhelmed. He does nip at her clit before rising though, she shrieks then almost _miaows_ nasally.

“Comfy?” he asks, examining the posture she’s sprawled in, moving a precariously placed plate, ghosting over the tangle of clothes across her upper body. Elizabeth only blinks at him as he stands over her, pupils pooling and lost. A satisfied laugh grooves out of him.

In the end he bends to lick at the unveiled portion of her tits, relishing in her pleased grunts and nosing her shirt higher; winces only very slightly for the harsher thwack of her head falling back. She helps him wiggle her bra all the way off. Rio straightens, tweaks at her nipples.

And then – well he don’t actually know how she’s feeling and it’s a not an insignificant choice, but fuck it. She’s essentially nude, and if it’s on the table, he’d rather take his time with her. So Rio plucks off his own t-shirt, goes for his belt next. Elizabeth shoves herself up, reaches out. The first touch at his chest is timid, but soon her hands are anything but. As she goes for his fly she heaves him to her, those elegant legs swerve around his body, and then he’s tonguing at her demanding mouth – it tastes of syrup and chance, as they push his jeans and underwear down together. He doesn’t break the kiss to step out his clothes, kicking the pile haphazardly away.

“Lie back,” he murmurs. And she _obeys_ , glides so easy for him when he angles her. It’s delicious – his cock sliding into her warmth; dainty feet quavering by his shoulders. But he ain’t ready to lose himself in her exuberance completely. Elizabeth matches his slow, steady pace, easy. One of her hands travels her body, clutching urgent at her breast for long moments, before navigating south to thumb at her navel. The other strains for him. So he leans further into her, latches his teeth to a nipple, teases fingers in creases between ‘em briefly, along her creamy labia, taps at soaked pubic curls. Elizabeth warbles, mewls.

“Like that?” he asks, guttural.

That gets him a pleasing string of ‘yeah’s. Her lashes keep slipping down again with the overload, and Rio don’t object, but damn, he don’t wanna quit peering at her. She always looks awed, and a lil dazed, when her lids peel – ogling the position of hands, as if she ain’t sure which one of them is touching her, where. Hers makes its way near his neck, fingers kneading repeatedly into his flesh, till her nails are needling in, while the other stretches down her own body. Two of her fingers aim for her clitoris.

The practised way she flicks at herself, as she squeezes around him again and again, rewarding how he’s fucking up into her, is truly something to behold. Once she’s convulsing and whimpering at what’s gotta be the highest peak of her register, Rio resigns control, pounds at her in a way that certainly doesn’t get her hushing none – him neither. His orgasm's reflected in Elizabeth’s still ecstatic face – the sudden twist of her jaw, flicker of her eyes, as he spurts and spurts, deep up her. Rio's incisors catch at the agonisingly soft skin above her armpit.

When he’s pulling out she makes a fussy noise, and he drops, heavily, back to the seat. What he forms at the sight of his semen trickling from her cunt strikes, if anything, coarser.

He ranges a thumb out, diverts from the drops to grind rough over her clit.

Elizabeth jolts, eeps.

“Ain’t done with you.” He’s untroubled by just how used up his voice rings.

“Sore,” Elizabeth mumbles. But there’s a meaning to that mock-frown, significance to her yen.

Maybe she thinks he won’t, with her all sticky – with him. His back’s kinda twinging though, and he wouldn’t shun an alternative venue.

He hoists her again, taking care to keep her skirt bunched high, feels her rubbing against him. Rio dumps her semi-ceremoniously on her couch, with her back bowing over its arm. Stretches out on his front, speaks _into_ her, “Poor baby, want me to kiss it better?”

She coos, “Mmmhmm,” so seriously that it makes him smile. His mouth cinches straight round her clit, dousing it with attention, till she’s straggled whinging and desperate. Rio’s gotta steady her with his hands, so she don’t accidentally shuck him, or clip him in the nose. At first she’s begging in that non-specific way he’s developing a fondness for.

But then she glares at him, snaps, “Put. _Ah_. Your fucking fingers. Oh– god. Inside me. Fuuu– Pl- _please_.”

He does consider acquiescing. But he craves denying her everything, to make bestowing it eventually all the sweeter. Rio does elevate off, replacing his tongue with a finger tip at least – he’s not _that_ much of a dick, to tease, “Thought you didn’t want ‘em?”

Elizabeth’s possibly got a look of nebulous appreciation going, though it’s intricate to extract from the sweaty sheen, and murderous scoffs.

Rio dips, his tongue forms a path lower, till she wheezes in anticipation and he laps his way back to her clit instead.

When her thighs are wobbling continually and she’s lashing wails, he shoves his fingers into her, angling them immediately to rub the proper spot. Elizabeth hits the destination pretty much straight off, keening a note that seems unending. After she’s gone still, practically silent, he boosts away to sit up, yanks her to slump against his chest.

For a while, all she does is pant. Then her eyes tremble open, and her hand discovers the wing at the side of his neck; fingering the ink appears to ground her. A syllable that’s nowhere near a word plummets outta her mouth.

Damn, he can’t cull that persistent smirk.

“Do you,” she tries, her voice pattering wildly unfit, as if her throat’s been gaping, inappropriately ravenous, through a sandstorm.

Rio’s running his gaze all over her, and he don’t feel like stopping.

She swallows, tries again, face averting. “Do you maybe want to go for a drink sometime?” It rushes out of her, an awkwardly speedy wave.

Elizabeth’s musky with him – her couch is too, sitting in his lap, exposed around ruched away clothes. And that’s what she sticks on?

He massages her cheek, till she pivots it back to him, and then he doesn’t stop. “How’s your day looking?” Cos, shit, why the hell not. If she’s eager, repeating ain’t nothing to sneer at. And just cos it doesn’t have to mean anything, don’t follow the reverse gotta be set in stone.

She grins, disbelieving at first, but warming. “Pretty clear.”

“Wash up, I can take you out for a beer.” She is celebrating, after all. And then, acting he’s only just realised it. “You know I could use a shower too...”

She does that thing again, “Ri. Oh.” Tuts, like she’s exasperated.

He wrinkles his brow, purses lips, “Got a problem with cleanliness? Or saving water?”

Rio hauls ‘em both up. He can see expressly what that sparkle to her irises is saying. So he smacks Elizabeth’s ass, light but intending promise. Remains content to let her lead the way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well Rio DID offer to take her for a beer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully intended for this story to be a one-shot but then a chapter two appeared, so! It picks up not long at all after the first part.
> 
> If you too are in the mood for something fun before the inevitable angst and confusion of season three strikes, yooooo

Elizabeth, turns out, has a sizeable store of opinions on the subject of beer – most of which are objectively terrible. It is pretty entertaining though, watching her dictate to the barman; attempting to negotiate her beverage predilections through the available selection. The guy does _not_ seem to mind – presents as plenty game for soaking Elizabeth’s intensity, along with her insane blanket statements. Dude – who, fuck knows why, is topped by an ugly fedora – _giggles_ when she asserts that all microbrews taste of feet.

And, yeah, it does feel a _little_ off – while the guy awkwardly glanced over to Rio a couple times at the start, he’s swiftly moved to greater comfort with the situation. Being practically ignored isn’t a condition he has a huge amount of familiarity with. Sure, Rio _could_ sidle closer, might even get away with swinging an arm over Elizabeth’s shoulder or round her waist without her realising she’s noticed. She’s got a tendency of accepting his touch like it belongs there.

But he doesn’t budge, stays leaning with an elbow on the bar, turned at the perfect angle for observing her. Cos it’s not as if he and Elizabeth are on a date – not _really_. And, whatever, she ain’t actually flirting with the guy – even if the fool don’t know it. It’s clear to Rio that she’s fording a route to what she wants out the exchange, in what she takes to be the quickest fashion, no fucks spared for potential roadblocks, or impact. And it’s pretty damn obvious – knowing ‘bout all the bull with her idiot hubby, and, really, her general trigger-happy energy – that any possessive shit could backfire horribly, turn her right off.

Eventually, after some over-flourished taste-tests, Elizabeth settles on a lager she deems passable. Rio pays as she finds seats – gotta be easier to let her handle that choice solo, rather than wade through a laundry list of demands about the angle of the sun and quality of chair legs and whatnot. Once they’re happy at the table, Rio makes sure to tilt the label of his double IPA at her, she was banging on ‘bout them being a distinct sign of pretension. Elizabeth scowls, but there’s a brightness to her pupils – a sheen not far off _smug_. The conversation flows easy, though it’s mostly about nothing. She’s got a wealth of random information at her disposal, can chomp into any passing topic, paired with an an engulfing need to be right – it’s fast recognisable.

“Actually–” Elizabeth interjects, more than once.

That’s solo MJ, not the Jackson 5. No, it _increases_ the boiling point of the water, which means it cooks better. Well, not _all_ mammals. Yeah, but that’s the average – you have to take into the account the high childhood mortality rate.

It’s relentless, and a far cry from relaxed, Rio feels like he ain’t come down off a complicated pose upon his toes since they sat down. He can’t remember the last time sitting in a bar waffling about whatever was this combative. Or engaging.

“Nah,” he interrupts her back, “it’s not. Uses an expanded version of the Latin alphabet.”

Elizabeth’s eyes drift away, she riffles through recollections till she clearly sources the veracity of his statement, gives him a pleased nod. She doesn’t try to defend that incorrect corner at all. Her lack of bluster, that apparent appreciation for the sanctity of trivia-sponging, is – subtly stirring.

She’s just obligingly passed Rio the salt shaker, to go with the pepper and ketchup, as he positions items on the tabletop – tryna demonstrate how truly stupid the layout of that museum’s lobby is, when the bartender comes by to check on them. It’s natural to agree to the same again, the two of them cement the decision with a silent exchange of head motions and half-smiles in front of their interloper. Elizabeth pops up to follow the dude back to the bar to take care of this transaction.

So Rio watches. She’s in his line of vision, after all. He ain’t the kind gotta fill every moment with distraction, doesn’t automatically reach for his phone or a menu cos he’s unattended for a minute. He’s not keeping an eye or whatever, remains about as profoundly unthreatened by this rando’s interest as it’s possible to be, but he’s made a life of observation. And if right now that focuses more on the swell and shift of Elizabeth’s backside than any obviously useful insights, well, he rather doubts there’s a person alive who’d respond different, under the circumstance.

Rio does clock her tipping generously too, before she starts sauntering back for him, it’s not a habit he’s come to expect from her demographic.

When she’s almost done with that second drink too, he finished a small ways ahead, Rio asks if she wants another.

Elizabeth sighs, fiddles with her cell to glance at the time display. “I do have to get back,” she says. “And I should probably be sober. Well. _Ish_.” A grimace frisks her face.

Rio follows the dots. “Ah. You doing that tonight?”

Her mouth slides wide, and wider. “Yep.” Then she adds, “Dean’s mom’s picking up the kids, and they’re staying at hers tonight. I said I’d make his favourite dinner.” That glee is spite-spiked.

Rio pauses. Tries to convince himself not to say – it. But. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

Elizabeth’s shoulders quirk, affable.

“You know what you want out this conversation with him?”

She glances askance, neck jutting and hand splaying in a _come on_ gesture. “Err, _yeah_. I want him to know he’s an idiotic dick.”

Rio’s jollity bubbles out his nose, re-lines his features. “Sure,” he allows. “But after that? You planning on packing you and the kids up, or you want him to leave or–”

“Oh Dean’s getting the absolute hell out of my house!” Elizabeth looks rather alarmed by the suggestion that any other conclusion might be possible.

Rio probes in an expressly reasonable tone. “He generally an obedient guy?”

Elizabeth immediately scoffs, then her gaze roams Rio’s face, tongue tipping out to settle upon her bottom lip as she concentrates on getting a read on him. “You think _I_ should be scared? Please, Dean’s the one who should worry! The only reason I’m not gonna smash his things to smithereens is cos I’d end up having to tidy it all up.”

Rio believes it. He wipes at the corner of his eye, creasing up. “Still,” he says, slightly sobering, “Might wanna have someone with you–”

Elizabeth makes a noise of distaste as her hands push her away from the table, those silky tresses shaking about. “I’m not some – damsel,” she snaps. Her visage granites up. “Okay,” she says, nodding with sour cheeks – like she’s been exposed to an unpleasant but expected revelation. “It’s some caveman nonsense? You had your dick in me and now–”

“ _Elizabeth_!” he croons extra slow, mouth yawning massive, impersonating scandalised.

That earns him a different kinda pissy expression, one ripe with acknowledgement his attempt at offence is pure tease. Which at least means she’s listening.

“I ain’t mean me.”

Elizabeth blinks a couple goes, still tensed, maybe marginally mollified.

He forms a few half-baked impressions – wondering whether it’s a compliment she always seems ready to cast him in any role; if it smacks of the difficulties of self-reliance. But he don’t linger there.

“See a lot of fucked up shit in this job. Some people don’t handle the threat of change well, that’s all I’m saying.”

She only stares.

“You might wanna have a friend with you, least someone on standby.”

“Standby?” she echoes, sorta disbelieving.

“Yeah – like, checking in.”

Rio searches her surface, gropes for the best way to explain himself, not encouraged to start listing awful anecdotes. “I got a sister.”

“O...kay.” Her voice, furrow too, says that don’t make him special, that he’s got a problem if he believes it does.

“She was in your shoes, that’s the typa advice I hope someone’d give her.”

Those bright eyes flick as Elizabeth digests that. “Wait,” she says eventually, mouth curling – almost playful, ready to strike at any misspeaking she can correct. “You wouldn’t give her that advice yourself?”

“Fuck no,” he responds straight off, “I’d be inventing new ways to kick the dumbass’ ass.”

Elizabeth cackles, coarse-close. Catches his look, admits, “When my teenage sister told me she was pregnant, I paid a visit to the young man involved. With a baseball bat.”

Rio whistles. “You about to confess to a murder?”

“ _Hardly_ ,” she snorts. “He was rehearsing his proposal when I got there.” Her nose scrunches and she pauses before adding, “They’ve been divorced a few years now.”

Rio deadpans, “Wow, you had shitty parents, huh.”

Elizabeth gasps a distressed sound and throws a napkin his way – her aim ain’t bad. He notes that she’s not frowning though.

“It was fifty-fifty,” Rio says, in a tone that might pass for appeasing.

Her features pull with confusion.

“Anyone with as many kids as you either had a really good childhood, or a really bad one.”

“Or problems with birth control,” Elizabeth returns.

He hums.

“I’m getting a cab,” Elizabeth announces not too long after, to which Rio nods pleasantly.

He walks her over to the car, and Elizabeth impulsively pops up on her tiptoes, pecks him on the cheek.

“Bye!” she says, speedy, before disappearing into the back seat.

He ain’t convinced _she_ knows what kinda vibe she was tryna leave him with.

*

Rach basically fucking simpers at him, asking if he wants to hand deliver Elizabeth’s invoice. And _fuck_ no.

He’s suffered through years of Rach’s appalling comedy stylings. it’s honestly embarrassing that she persists in this belief that she’s hilarious. If one day his eyes do pop out his head from excessive rolling, she’s eating the full shitting blame.

Rio definitely ain’t keen to go round, force an excuse to see Elizabeth. Jesus, where’d that lead? With him sitting by or on some surface he’s laid her on, while asking her to pay off a bill? Nah, way too messy. Specially cos he can’t be _certain_ she’d wanna see him.

*

She texts a couple days later. He doesn’t reply straight off, hears the ping and sees the notification on the lockscreen but doesn’t tap through, not till he’s finished putting the groceries away. He ain’t into playing mind games or whatever, just wants to give it proper attention, without the distraction of perishables.

Anticipation shimmers, metallic, in his gut once he’s read the message through, ‘How much of an asshole are you gonna be if I say you were right?’

‘Gonna need some more info sweetheart’ is what he pops back.

Her reply appears a few minutes later – Rio wasn’t staring at the dang thing, but he diverts from enthusiastically air drumming along to _Aja_ when his phone buzzes to reach for it. ‘Dean blamed his affairs on my post partum.’

Rio’s honestly not certain what would possibly be appropriate to respond to that with. He’s debating taking a picture of the top half of his face – eyes wide and brows pushing up to his hairline, when a follow up comes in.

‘I genuinely lost the power of speech it was so stupid. But I had my best friend and my sister there, and they screamed him out the house’.

And _oh_ – all right.

So he asks how annoyed she’d be with an ‘I told you so’.

‘Honestly?’ says Elizabeth’s message, ‘I’d probably still say thanks.’

So he does give her one, officially. Her response is practically instantaneous. And unflattering – sweary too. There’s a poop emoji, along with several flaming faces.

Rio enquires if it all means she’s gotta celebrate again.

‘I suppose I should’ is what he gets to that. A grin curves his mouth, he catches the reflection off the front of his briefly dimmed phone.

So, ‘Wanna go out in the world?’

Answering Elizabeth’s incoming call, as he nudges the volume of the music low, zings like a victory.

She launches straight into it, doesn’t spare breath on anything approaching a hello, “Are you saying you party _inside_ the earth? Like some kind of… hobbit?”

She’s wearing that teacher voice, leaning so self-impressed by her pedant tinge that she may not be capable of long stifling triumphant laughter.

“Hi,” he says.

Elizabeth thrums a non-specific note.

“I’m asking,” Rio says, tone casual, “you wanna go out to celebrate or...”

“ _Or_?”

“Come round.”

Once they’ve finished speaking, Rio texts her his address.

*

She arrives – looking a vicious kind of unfairly good in that tautened number, curves underscored but mostly tucked outta sight; darkened lips; shining filigree dripping from her lobes; the bulk of her hair piled away, sweet escapees framing still – with a bottle of undoubtedly nasty, cheap red wine. He convinces her to decant out her heels, for the sake of his poor floors, though she frowns out several comments on the fragility of tall folks’ egos.

When Elizabeth concurs enthusiastically with the notion of a drink after he’s led her kitchen-wards, Rio pointedly ignores the convenience store ‘gift’ she’s placed on the counter. Instead he roots around – gets the medium sized jug, an unopened bottle of spiced rum, couple cans of ginger beer, and a lime. Then he takes the time to look at her proper – absorbs the intrigue, the lack of battling, before raising a soundless question.

Elizabeth nods, agreeable, so Rio sources ice, starts chopping the lime. Once he’s poured ‘em a glass each of his concoction, they clink.

“It’s good,” Elizabeth tells him after sipping.

He don’t react much, was already confident she’d approve.

Elizabeth takes him up on the suggestion of the grand tour after a fair snatch of milling; he steers her to the appropriate starting point with a light handle, greedily imbibing her heady scent. She’s surprisingly tactile along the circuit – her fingertips trail against fronds, buff gently over statuettes.

The way she stutters to a stop when they round the set of red screens almost gets his face unstraightening. Course, he coulda perhaps predicted it coming and halted his progress, not ended up pushed to Elizabeth’s back. But really, where’d be the fun in that.

She sidesteps, so she can turn to contend with him. Her tone is mild, expression _nearly_ matching, when she asks, after a few seconds, “You have a child?”

“Uh huh,” he breezes. Rio’s smirk leans in that typical fashion, transforms into a proud beam. How he goes ‘bout Marcus ain’t nothing he’s got a problem with being predictable as all hell over.

“Is that – is that why you wanted me to come here?” Elizabeth swallows after the question, flustered, as if it was _too_ significant.

And Rio – well it’s hard to apportion intent precisely, specially given there’s one blasting blatant reason he wanted her here. Sure, he catches the drift of her second guessing, but – yeah. Maybe he appreciates her recognising stuff they share too. Plus laying this surprise on her was at least as funny as he imagined. But also – he wants to be convinced she’s aware he’s a whole damn _person_.

Elizabeth seems kinda self-absorbed, and it ain’t that he don’t find it cute – how she gets so wrapped in whatever’s on her brain. He doesn't fault her for having her mental plate full at the moment neither, given she's busy with extricating herself from an avowed jerk. But fatherhood is a fact about Rio she’d know by now if she’d bothered to ask, well, basically _anything_ about him.

He’s plenty glad she hasn’t interrogated him on his favourite colour as if the answer could possibly be profound, or demanded he rank a bunch of yawnish superhero movies, or any of them other inane supposed ice breakers he’s been subjected to in the past. But that don’t mean they shouldn’t speak on _any_ serious point.

“I’ve seen yours,” he says, letting his gaze roam his space around her margins, before zeroing very deliberately back on her form.

It charms an open-mouthed smile from Elizabeth, her tongue peeks out briefly before she pulls a wry sort of look – perhaps in acknowledgement of being caught out.

She takes his hand when he offers it, apparently intent on completing the tour. Her lips are firmly shut, but there’s a chunk of obvious dimpling on one side of her face that says she’s trying to subsume excitation.

Them screens are a fairly recent development. Rio’s wall-less vision was fun at first but it has begun to be a shade impractical, and Marcus has been hankering for a modicum of privacy, physical boundaries to his special space.

When they’re approaching the tall green ones, Rio starts saying, “And this is…” He sends her through just ahead of him.

Elizabeth takes in the bed, he’s half expecting her to go skittish when she turns to him. There’s a moment when it seems like it could ram that way, as he backs up to the bedside table to put down his drink, but she gains a challenging glint.

“I wasn’t sure you knew about bed sex.”

He snorts, indulgent – frankly he could spray that indictment in her direction. Elizabeth stretches her arm out his way, so Rio takes her glass, deposits that on the same surface as his. When he swivels back around, Elizabeth’s moving – down towards the foot of the bed. She almost lounges, her rear against the screen. Her eyes are riveted on him as he makes his way to join her.

He reaches out a hand – towards a strawberry blonde strand fondling her cheek, but Elizabeth shakes her head.

“No.” Her voice is firm.

His arm lingers in mid-air a second, before falling. As he considers her body language, his eyebrow arcs.

“You’re very,” she begins, “ _distracting_.”

Rio’s mouth moves, but before he can form even a single syllable, she interrupts, responds as if he’d said it.

“Yes obviously I had a good time.” Her cheeks have pinked, but not all that much. “Have you considered,” she continues, with a small throat clear, “that there are things I want to – do?” Her hand riffles, similar to that way he forms when he’s tryna get a person to go on and spit it out, then swipes to gesture a shape over him.

With the biggest grin he says, “Darlin’, go right ahead.”

Elizabeth beams back, before shoving him, hard, onto the bed. He lands with a laughing huff. When she heaves her chin at him, he wriggles his way up the mattress, till his head is pillowed.

“Take off your clothes,” she orders.

It’s a task he manages the majority of nights in this vicinity, so he doesn’t rush over it, or try to make it a massive, slow show. He does preen and stretch a little for her when he’s bare though, and Elizabeth certainly doesn’t appear to mind.

She comes closer, finds a position at the side of the bed. Her hands trip over his skin, they don’t go straight for his cock immediately, but she soon makes her way there. She’s not even _really_ jerking him, it starts more exploratory, though her contact loses caution as she gains confidence. He doesn’t start feeling out of control till her head bends. She don’t suck, merely licks a path. It’s as if she couldn’t prevent herself from investigating; savouring. His dick twitches.

“Gonna fuck me?” Rio asks, voice scratching.

She pulls her mouth away and straightens up to look at him, her fist pumping in earnest, grip increasing in strength.

“Probably,” she says, largely languid.

He reaches for her, but she shuts that down with another emphatic head shake. His arms stretch out behind his head under her indignant inspection, attempting to tuck away from temptation.

Rio pouts. “Don’t I get to _see_ you?”

“Maybe later.” Elizabeth rubs at him in a semi-soothing way.

Then she lets go, and that’s probably no bad thing cos he’s thirsting to get back _inside_ her, not spill all over her pretty hand, but a small groan falls outta him anyway.

She boosts herself onto the bed, straddles his lower thighs. Remains up on her knees, elevated over him, not in contact with his skin. The wide skirt of her black dress billows over them both.

“You been thinking about it?” he asks, and she nods – twice.

“Yeah. Me too.”

One of her hands tickles at his balls, the other swipes too gently over the head of his penis.

“Gonna ride me, Elizabeth?”

“What did I say about being distracting,” she snips the words out, they pose as a warning.

“Sorry.” His intonation’s distinctly unapologetic. “I am an investigator.”

Elizabeth snorts. “What’s the mystery?”

“When you’re gonna let me touch you. How you wanna be opened up. Hmm, you gonna come sit on my face?”

When he licks his lips she narrows her eyes, but noticeably continues to refrain from telling him to stop talking, which is – _great_. If not overly surprising, he saw how she responded to his words the other day.

She shuffles herself higher up his body, then relaxes her legs – drops down towards him. When her crotch rubs over Rio, he moans, has to grasp onto the headboard to prevent himself from grabbing for her.

“ _Elizabeth_ ,” he hisses, straining each and every segment of her name. Jesus, did she make her way over here, let him walk her around the apartment, all pantie-less?

“Whoops,” she says, rolling against him. “Knew I’d forgotten something.”

Then she lifts back up on her knees, gets a hand under her skirt. It’s fucking delicious torture – he can tell exactly what she’s doing to herself – how she’s massaging and pressing. Her hand bumps against his cock again and again, and every so often she extracts her fingers to pluck at him a few goes. The material of her dress keeps fluttering against his flesh, tickling. It scorches at him, the not seeing, not touching her. Rio seizes harder than he thought possible at the bars, his hips lift in frustration.

“Do I need to tie you up?” she snaps.

“Probably,” he tosses back immediately.

Elizabeth harrumphs, part pleased.

She feeds him one of her sopping fingers. He laps greedily, as she holds tight to his cock, frets the tip against her clit. It’s – too much, not nearly enough, her shut-eyed spasming. It leads to her pushing down onto him though, her tight pussy attempting to swallow him whole. Her progress is punitively slow, Rio kinda wants to make a jibe ‘bout her pathetically small fingers but he’s otherwise occupied. His breaths come sharp, fingers tensing to the same tempo. Elizabeth’s pace remains agonising as she works herself on him, claiming what she needs.

It’s almost fucking perfect, her head tipped back and features all screwed, nails pinching at his chest. As lush as Rio remembered, might be better. And that’s a dangerous path, he could lose himself in her drenching familiarity if he ain’t careful. Shit, maybe even if he is.

But then she’s moaning and writhing so, so desperate, chasing a peak she can’t quite fumble to. Rio loses it, surges up – till she’s in his lap. He gets a hand on her clothed hip, guiding as he grinds up into her better. He’s expecting a reprimand maybe, but Elizabeth giggles into it, grateful.

He leans in, kisses her till her teeth are seizing at his bottom lip so hard he swears he discerns copper.

“How do I get this fucking thing off?” he growls on her mouth, reaching about her back for fastenings that don’t materialise.

“Side – side,” Elizabeth pants, tipping her head to the right.

Rio unzips the damn dress triumphantly. He ain’t quite up to manoeuvring it all the way off, but works the sleeves down at least, to nip at her breasts over her bra. And he bunches up its infuriating skirt. Once he’s thumbing at her clit, it doesn’t take long before she’s coming – clenching and sobbing and twitching her relief against him.

She’s barely moving, keeping up the slightest ghost of a humping rhythm, as she travels back down to reality. He’s working out the nicest way to knock her to her back, when she starts bobbing with a vengeance again, propels him straight down to the mattress.

“Oh–” he gets out, before she covers his mouth with her hand. The other slides behind her, unclasps her bra. It falls next to him.

She’s a _real_ sight – flushed hungry-sated, hair spilling and tits bouncing. He tries to ask – if he can touch her, that she’s good, what she wants. Elizabeth only sticks her fingers down his throat. So he just lets her – do whatever she desires, till she drags – _milks_ , seems like – his orgasm from him, as she shudders through her second.

She collapses onto him, after. His hands find her ass, squeeze instinctively. Her breaths fall heavy on his neck, till she begins mouthing there – tracing the intricacies of the ink that she can access. Rio tips her sideways to reach for the Kleenex; scores a reasonable whirl at cleaning the pair of ‘em up. When he’s done, he settles on his side too, staring.

“You always like this?”

Elizabeth shuffles her eyes closer to fully open, manages a, “Huh?”

“Wandering around wetter than the sea. Coming so easy.” Maybe she is some molten succubus, kidnapped by that moron husband.

But she answers, “No. Not even for myself.”

He swallows. Something sinful tangos up his spine at her admission. It’s not cos– Or not _only_ about– Look, he ain’t even being dramatic, just: thought experiment, right. If he was her – with those unparalleled breasts, all that achingly soft body with its expanse of perfect curves, such a vigorous, snug cunt – why bother getting out of bed, ever, yeah?

“I should–” Elizabeth sounds rather unsteady. “I should get going?”

“You gotta?” he asks, tryna prevent disappointment shading in too much.

She looks a bit startled by the question, which is weird, he was hardly being pushy and– _Oh_.

“Don’t wanna press you,” Rio says, playing very gently with her hair against her shoulder, “but I reckon you wanna stay.”

Her expression’s _so_ damn vulnerable. He doesn’t like it. Or – or no. It’s the hurt etched there he takes issue with, not her displaying it.

“Lot easier to fuck you in the morning if you’re already here,” he reasons, hand flying to give her ass a healthy smack.

Elizabeth squawks. But she settles serene along him when he nudges.

She says something about a shower, and he mumbles, “Five minutes,” dragging her in tighter. Her cosy corners yield entire, wrap and burnish. She’s out hilariously fast, so he just smirks, claps off the last of the lights.

*

In the morning, Rio splutters awake to a mouth full of fluffy hair. And a boner he’s convinced he could use for an axe if pressed. He’s grinding against Elizabeth’s ass, and she’s giving it right back – pushing against the mattress for greater leverage.

“Jesus,” he mutters at her ear, “you tryna kill me?”

She detonates a string of definitely-not-words, with an accusatory bent. So he gets a hand between her thighs, tweaks at her clit, dips his fingers. Fuck, she is – he could be forgiven for thinking a pipe broke or some shit, with how she’s leaking all over, thighs sticky with arousal.

Elizabeth retaliates by stirring her right leg up and behind her, over his hip – opening and inviting. So he shoves his cock right on in; basks – in the velvet of her, and the ways she responds. It’s real stimulating – but the leisurely pace the position restricts ‘em to ain’t quite enough, for her neither, based on those urgent whines and offbeat squirms.

Rio pulls out, ignores her offended gasp to drag her up. He gets her on her knees, sets her fingers to gripping the metal bars of the headboard. “Hold on,” he instructs.

And he was fully intending to press back inside her as soon as possible, but he can’t pass up the opportunity – zigzags down and lifts her pelvis higher; bites at her peach of an ass. She _yelps_ , so he does it again. Tugs her cheeks apart, nuzzles at her soaked slit and tongues at her engorged clit till she’s all whimpers.

Then he soars, repositions – clutching her waist. Thrusts back in her, pummels at her cunt; revels in her appreciation. One hand yanks her hip in time, the other squeezes, crushes, round a tender breast.

Elizabeth groans, internal muscles twisting about his cock. It’s setting him off but – _not yet_.

“Hey,” he says, cheerful, between pants. “Wanna go for a drink some time?”

She makes a half-hearted noise of puzzlement, but then must remember asking him something similar recently.

“Shut _up_ ,” she hisses.

He drives at her with even greater force. Nibbles behind her ear where neck flows into jaw, then grits out, “Probably won’t,” as she explodes, cursing, on him. He holds on long as he can, letting her ride it, ride it, ride it, ride it – Elizabeth bleating in sharp awe, her pitch springing and roiling wild.

At the last moment he pulls out, spatters her ass, the pair of dimpling grooves above, hits the concave fold of her spine too. Rio grunts, amused, when she crashes face-down back into the bed with vigour enough to bounce a portion, but really he’s making a concerted effort to not fall straight onto her. It’s a spate of arm-trembling respiration-focus before Rio’s propped proper, up to stroking patterns across Elizabeth’s supple skin, watching it suck down his come as his fingers smear it further in.

When he suggests a shower this time she tells him to fuck off, speech muffling into his pillow. Rio doesn’t bother quieting his merriment. Elizabeth reaches out a lazing hand to blindly swat at him, doesn’t land anywhere close. So he shuffles into her side, real helpful. And if it all presents an excuse to trail his fingers there too, well, what a happy accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rio's listening to Steely Dan, cos he's a massive fuckin nerdy hipster (and also gives me big percussion vibes?). 
> 
> Beth's beer opinions are Pretty Valid tbh (Americans why can you not live up to your stereotype and offer your guests watery lager smh). 
> 
> The drink Rio makes is basically a dark and stormy, which is barely a cocktail but is delicious! 
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments and encouragement on the first chapter <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things aren't entirely frictionless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB chapter contains light ass play and discussion/fantasy of anal sex. also general silliness.

They’ve never actually made it to her bed, but he’s had Elizabeth pressed against her bedroom door – both sides now. And there’s been another sleepover at his since. Maybe best of all though, was the time she called him, kinda out the blue – in a foul fuckin’ mood. So Rio’d gone to meet her, ended up laying her out ‘cross her backseat.

After, not mustering all that much venom, she’d said, “If Dean talks to me like that again, I’ll kill him.”

Rio’s lips had fluttered, and eventually Elizabeth was smiling with him – hers small still, but true.

It was a good feeling. Wasn’t like Rio wanted to slough the passion out her, but there was satisfaction to seeing the coiled, cooled remnants of her rage; knowing he’d worked the worst of her tension off.

But it wasn’t _all_ , whatever, the rub of his palms over Elizabeth’s provoking satiny skin, that diverting pleasure to transforming plenty of her indignation, wearing her out. Cos there was an undercurrent, tugging – on his subconscious, at their interactions.

That last time she’d been at his – getting all cutesy with the bagels and the apricot jam, the morning after. Till he mentioned has ma made both preserves and Elizabeth’d clammed right awkward. Or the afternoon he was leaving her house, where she insisted on walking him back to his car, though it was parked barely thirty seconds away. As if she needed to prove she could be just as much of a gentleman. Which, okay, coulda had something to do with the way she tended to eyeroll whenever he did that typa shit, but – whatever. Rio’d clutched her hand, not thinking much of it, specially with how she’d been playing over his rings earlier. But Elizabeth had tensed, her eye had twitched, furtive. Dropped her fingers off him the moment they reached his ride.

And, yeah, she’s an oddball. _Clearly_. Ain’t implausible that Elizabeth’s a prideful and rabidly competitive jam-maker, one real paranoid ‘bout the neighbours to boot. Plus Rio’s a parent too, he gets it, shit happens. May well be nothing of consequence to Elizabeth being impossible to pin this week, despite her emphasising that they should meet.

But if she _is_ pulling away… Well, there’s a not insignificant part of him that considers it the wise move. This shit’s a _lil_ messy. She’s still technically married, christ’s sake. And, okay, she was the first time too, ain’t like his eyes weren’t all the way open. But there’s a difference between fucking a bad mood outta a person and– And continuing to do it.

Rio could tell her a thing or two – might even be willing, if she asked – ‘bout jumping from the flames of a broken situation head first into something new. That that _can’t_ heal you. How he ain’t convinced he’s all the way fixed up himself – reckons he’s grown barbed corners that can’t be worn off now, surely doesn’t offer picture-perfect normalcy.

When she texts to say she’s on her way, Elizabeth also gripes on being hungry. He don’t even make the obvious joke, simply pops down to the deli across the street to pick up a few bits. She beelines straight for the bread on the counter once she’s inside, after kissing him, closer to the corner of his mouth than his cheek proper, in greeting.

And then Elizabeth chats – produces her version of small talk, which mostly involves her exaggeratedly complaining over the terrible driving she saw on her journey to him. She only pauses in her diatribes to shove more bread and oil in her mouth, quests in his fridge for pâté.

Rio already knew she wasn’t here to break up, cos, duh, you can’t split if you’re not in fact together. But, still. He feels a little surer of his balance all the same.

He’s roused to recall, appreciate, that when Maya left – with that ultimatum and all the prickly judgemental resentment – he’d been so far from ready to let that shit go he couldn’t even recognise the concept existed. Whereas Elizabeth, and he genuinely don’t believe she’s fronting the majority of it, seems full of elation at putting this marriage behind her. Plus, Rio can’t find it in him to regret the hazy phase that happened after Maya, not anything that ultimately led him to his kid, and largely from that crooked path he’d been striding with purpose along.

Just cos Elizabeth reminds him a chunk of how he’d been back then – impulsive and raw… That’s _his_ nostalgia. Doesn’t have to mean, predict, anything ‘bout her. Problem is, it implores him to be softer than he remembers how, with her. Rio discovers himself wishing to gift her the benefit of his experience. Wordless though, he ain’t an idiot.

It’s not even _hard_. Rio comprehends he ain’t got anything to be jealous of. His ego ain’t calling out for a stroking, he’s not drawn to antagonise for one. Doesn't suffer with an urge to be treated as the fresh hub of her world. And for all Elizabeth’s demanding attitude and impetuosity – she ain’t no starry-eyed twenty-something, ocean-like, dancing to the caprices of a moon without a shred of self-preservation. She’s a grown-up, parent-sanded a firm while with it. Can arrive at her own damn decisions too.

So, he starts telling her ‘bout that thing Marcus did at school a couple days ago, with the turtle. Cos that’s his normal, what gets him centred. Elizabeth nods in the right places, peals laughs for the punchline. And, yeah. Maybe it twangs – not a chasm from natural, anyway.

Though then there’s a sober, sharpened, expression upon her. And she says, real determined, entirely without warning, “I don’t want to meet him.”

That stuns Rio – not least cos he wasn’t _offering_ her a chance to hang out with his son. Frost grips his spleen, his capillaries screech. He thought Elizabeth better, less entitled, than this. Not selfish as – as his worst instincts.

It’s only when she sighs and his gaze flicks back to her, that he realises she ain’t looking at him. Elizabeth’s staring off into space. Her face is etched _exhausted_ , wavering worried with it. God, he feels kinda _bad_ for her.

“My kids _really_ aren’t taking the separation well,” she informs his cabinets, mostly.

It’s probably dangerous, how much he wishes to comfort her.

She meets his eyes then. “And what if one day, _one day_ , you meet them?” Her cheeks mottle a bit, colouring like fresh-picked scab. But she don’t glance off. It appears she’s embarrassed some, but not _ashamed_. “I can’t have this whole – relationship. With Marcus. I mean, what is that? It’d be so unfair.”

His first thought – or at least the one that settles – is that it’s a weirdly _reasonable_ argument, for her. That causes his smile, fond, and _fuck_. Why ain’t he more surprised that she’s wormed her way in close. But–

He flows for her, scalpel-focussed, asks what she wants. Ensures she can’t mistake his meaning, walks her towards the wall with the persistent sway of his hips, guides with his hands glued to her sides.

Once he’s got her pushed solid to exposed brick, Rio grinds against her, couple times. Her head tips back, those tits strain up for him.

“You,” she answers.

Rio laughs, but it’s jagged. “Wanna be more specific?”

Her eyes open, she says, “Not really.” That consumed tone, her rapt expression – it all goes straight to his groin.

Course he is _more_ than willing to improvise. Rio gets his hands under her skirt, to her ass for a good, solid squeeze. He finds her cheeks mostly bare. The thumb and first finger of his left hand leap towards the space between her buttocks, pull the string of her thong higher, tautening it there. Rio's right flanks her front. He gropes through the gauzy material of her panties, appreciates the wetness seeping already. Rubs rough.

Elizabeth moans, arcs for his touch.

“This for me?” he asks.

She mms. Rio’s not completely certain whether it’s in agreement – at least not with more than the motions of his fingers.

Still, though – his hand leaves her ass, bunches the skirt of her dress up high at her back, tugs. Directs her to turn round, let him see.

Elizabeth obeys, though she mews at the loss of his frisks between her thighs.

He don’t make a conscious decision to do it, but next he knows he’s landing a healthy thwack across one of her ass cheeks. It wasn’t full force or nothing, but heavier than he’s tapped her there previous. Elizabeth whimpers, moves in a way that she _must_ realise shoves her behind out further. To him.

Rio mutters a, “ _Shit_ ,” and grabs a fistful of hair. He heaves her neck upwards with his hold. Elizabeth curls into the action, leaking a wanton groan.

He accomplishes a split-second resolution, before he can’t, spins her about again. And Rio’s swiftly certain he formed the correct choice. Cos, yeah, he could ogle her ass all day, but right now he’s gotta see her face, these reactions.

He reaches underneath again, drags that thong off her. Drops to his knees, to mouth at her cunt. But she don’t let him stay down there long. Usually he’d ignore it, but she’s pleading in a way that says she ain’t fucking around, not even a tiny bit.

So he hoists her up the wall, balanced amongst his limbs. Gets himself free and her sinking down onto him, pushes _all_ the way in. Describes how he’s gonna pay her back for interrupting his fun. That he’s gonna tow her to his bed after – suck at her clit and tonguefuck her slow, till she’s begging him to let her at her orgasm.

“Yeah,” she says. “Okay. Fuck. Yeah. Yeah. Okay.” It ain’t mindless, not with the way Elizabeth’s staring back for him. Like she’s hungry for that too, but right now she just _really_ needed him to fuck her. Whatever sits directly below his dermis tingles aglow.

“Hurry up and come in me then,” Elizabeth pants, spiky.

He tries to smirk. Cos, sure. But if she imagines he ain’t taking her with him, she’s not been paying attention.

Rio’s thumb nudges between her lips. Possibly she was expecting the approach, given how easy her mouth gapes for him, the way she carefully slicks the top of it with her sucks. He pets at her clit with that moistened flat. Elizabeth finishes coming round his softening cock before he uproots, contracts and spasms so pretty for him even after he’s done pulsing into her.

*

After he’s hauled her to bed, made good on his promise and more, when the afterglow’s levelling and they’ve quasi-dozed away minutes, Elizabeth takes him by surprise, with how she flames _bright_ red.

She’s watching him sniff and lick at his fingers. So he swipes the tip of his pointer, extremely deliberately, across his facial hair.

“What?” he says, sly. When she doesn’t answer, he adds, “Good smell to wake to.”

“Yeah?” she asks, caught between disbelief and unease, maybe more than a smidge of flattered mixed in too.

He nods. “On my sheets. My face.”

She folds into his arms, willing. He fancies it’s not entirely to hide.

*

Rio wakes, come morning, to an almost familiar set up. Her crown’s nestled neat beneath his chin, merely a few runaway strands of her hair are tacked to his bottom lip.

His hips have turned restless against her behind, dick _full_. He’s nudged into the crack between – her ass cheeks real splayed around, by, him. Elizabeth’s pushing back repeatedly, moaning. And it ain’t like Rio hasn’t noticed how she _responds_ – the way she seems to initiate this particular melding of their pieces, even.

That evening in her car when she’d been seeing _infra_ red, fully apoplectic, Rio’d teased a knuckle down there. And then it was a fingertip against her hole, applying pressure more than anything else. But she’d bucked into the touch as he’d fucked her and – _yeah_.

Rio reflects on last night. Her unprompted, far from expected, openness – something he ain’t sure he’s got the capacity to match. It’s a long time, maybe all of it, since he simply offered up insights to a person for their taking. Though perhaps there’s little he could question Elizabeth ‘bout that wouldn’t get him an honest answer. And – and despite it all, vice-versa, perhaps.

His voice is gruffer than anticipated when he _doesn’t_ ask, states, “You’d let me.”

“What?” It’s too sugar-sundered, purposefully breathy.

So he adjusts, uses his hands to stretch her cheeks apart, presses in exact, so the tip of his cock bumps at her hole.

“Fuck you right here.” He thrusts, light. Once. Again.

She doesn’t brew a lame joke, playacting she assumes he means the bed. Instead she says, a dulcet ploy, “I don’t think you’d fit.” As if he’s supposed to believe she deems that a route to shutting the conversation down.

He trails a hand up, over her hip, down the other side. Cups her mound in a way not intended to be explicitly possessive. His fingers dip lower, fiddle through her slick. “Amazing what you can do with enough lube.”

Her ass bops back on him as she grumbles over his flimsy touch, tryna fetch friction, more, him.

Rio takes the opportunity to gather Elizabeth closer, higher – thighs further apart. He hmms. Mutters, like it’s a fresh assessment, “Now how would I – ah,” before rolling flat onto his back, dragging her with so she’s settled atop him – back still to his front – legs akimbo.

He’s got no hope of describing the sound Elizabeth begets in response. Thankfully she don’t flail much with it, manages to avoid whacking him anywhere more delicate than his knee.

He carries on, pouring it straight into her ear, “Yeah, I’d get you wide open on my fingers right here. Then, when you ready, you could fuck down onto me.”

He prods Elizabeth’s upper body forwards a lil, with a spring of his chest. Her feet plant firmly on the mattress, legs bent broad. He only swipes the lightest press of a digit at her ass hole, but it’s enough to make her shiver.

She raises her pelvis experimentally, shifts slightly. Elizabeth tries out leaning on her elbows, but switches to resting her weight on her palms, spreading them out behind her. When she’s worked it out, he grabs his cock, allows himself a jerk or two before setting the head at her dripping slit. He lets her decide what to do with it, and she explores the possibilities of the position, serving herself onto him. Her pussy lips flare round, over, the top; more.

He can already discern she ain’t gonna last long at it, trembling all over. And not just from strain, neither. Not if them gurgles and gasps are anything to go on.

“But how would we get you off?” Rio taps twice at her clit, rapid, how he does at his mouth when he’s musing theatrically. He pauses, anticipates her yip before repeating the action.

“Maybe with my fingers in here,” he suggests, brushing a pair of them along her entrance, highlighting how her cunt is stretched around him. He jams his hips upwards, into her. Elizabeth groans, her skull falls back, practically onto his raised chest, so he scrapes his teeth against her cheekbone.

“Know how you like being all filled up, baby.”

His grip plies lower, along the unsheathed portion of his length, down to the base. When he pursues shoving himself in further, Elizabeth grinds down to meet him. She’s sopping, but it still takes rock after rock to get him all the way in.

“Or maybe it oughta be yours,” he says. “Think you’d feel my cock through yourself?” She shudders, whines with it. Then Elizabeth constricts round him, determined, rises to slam back down, again, again, again, again.

“Or,” he offers, attending to her clit in earnest, “nothing at all in there.”

She whimpers, convulses, loses their rhythm. “Would you like that?” he asks, changing the angle, grasping at her hip. “Being so full, and so empty?” He rubs fiercer. “Clenching round nothing?”

Rio fucks up into her, bites at her shoulder. She comes emitting blunt squalls. When she’s less squirmy he holds her in place with both hands, till he’s finished painting her insides. They end up collapsed sideways, joined yet.

Later, she turns to him – only her head, flipped back over her shoulder. It’s a little reminiscent of a horror movie.

She’s resolute enough to be almost frowning when she says, “I don’t _let_ you do anything to me.”

“No?” The indulgent kind of disbelief shades his features.

But she stays firm. “No. We do things. Together.”

He hums his acknowledgement, fast. Reads the importance of that distinction, the unspoken contrast, from her spiced eyes. Rio loiters a hand up Elizabeth’s side, over that devastatingly smooth flesh, the spongy-tough spring of muscle below; swoops along each bend. He ain’t overly insistent with it, but she takes the hint, sorts herself to face him proper. Curves in, as he does.

He ain’t even sure which one of them moves first to lace their fingers, it just kinda happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes the 'both sides now' is a Joni reference (one day I will work the phrase 'boom boom pachyderm' into something, I'm almost certain) & if you think you've spotted a terrible pun you're almost definitely correct
> 
> I wasn't really planning on writing more of this, but it's nice to vacation from canon (though I can't help writing them as at least a little damaged, and kinda dumb anyway!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some meeting the friends vibes; an object lesson in why you shouldn't hang out with (other) control freaks

He ain’t one of those pricks who claim to ‘know’ women. Doesn’t believe their behaviour can be nudged about as desired through application of the correct compliment or insult, nor some potent perfected ratio of the two strains.

However, Rio’s _known_ plenty. Some intimately. Others it was just sex. He’s – comfortable walking amongst women, is the thing. Round about puberty, having an older sister with a tendency to fill the house with giggling girl gaggles stopped resembling a tribulation, became more a gift. He remains grateful to Rita, for more than all her tough love down the years too. Cos you can _tell_ a man who’s lacked that kind of exposure.

But Rio’s got a big sister, and his ma, and a sorta ex he speaks with close to every single day, and an old pal he’s in business with, and Gretch and… yeah, Elizabeth probably oughta be tallied as well. He doesn’t consider the lot of ‘em members of a, whatever, baffling alien species. And Marcus sure as _hell_ gonna understand that too.

So, when Elizabeth’s glittering down the phone, ‘bout her planned divorce paper signing ceremony on Friday – Gretchen having performed at least as admirably as expected, he don’t get bent outta shape over her having celebratory arrangements in place already. Ones that don’t involve him. She’s going out on the town with her kid sister and their shared best friend. And – sure. Makes sense. He’s not pissy about it.

But he also doesn’t think asking, “Want me to swing through?” is _that_ fucking weird.

First of all, Elizabeth goes so quiet – don’t even sound to be breathing – he assumes something’s wrong with the device. Rio starts fiddling with the volume, checking the call didn’t disconnect.

When she _does_ speak, she impresses as almost goddamn _traumatised_. How she might if a ghost launched out one of her cabinets. Began tap dancing its way across her kitchen tiles.

“You,” is all she works to initially. Then she ahems in a deliberate, professional-feigning manner. “You want to come to girls’ night?” It’s glassy – fragile _and_ sharp. Transparent.

He shrugs. Maybe she hears that – how he rustles against the cushions; the warp upon his tone.

“Just askin’. Don’t gotta.”

Elizabeth ducks off the call pretty rapid, citing outbound kiddie drama. And with four of ‘em tearing about the place, he can conceive it, easy.

She texts him a time and address a couple hours later though – without any further intel. Rio googles it, the bar. It looks _terrible_ – cheesy and no doubt loud and full of ‘deals’ on blatantly watered down cocktails. Kinda dive intentionally catering to bachelorettes and such. His lips flit, sorta hesitant, memories and possibilities entangling.

*

Rio can’t make it till at minimum an hour after the official meeting time, what with a scheduled stakeout. He’s not a disaster, nor a fool, so he’d _told_ Elizabeth that, well in advance. She waved it off, tinkled something on him not worrying, only _if_ it was convenient, that type shit. His jaw had gone too tight, teeth scraping enough he was reminded to actually book that dentist appointment, finally.

When he swans in, it’s a _relief_ for his eyes to land Elizabeth. She’s seated at a high table, pair of companions opposite. It’s not the bright hair or the glow of her near-translucent skin that leads him to her, he don’t think. She’s a grappling hook somehow, to his rods and cones. Rio just turns on entry and – _there_ she is, the first place he peers.

So he strides up, keys in hand still. Elizabeth only glances up to notice his approach when he’s practically upon her. She offers a slightly startled beam. He drops a kiss which catches the corner of her eyebrow as he mumbles a greeting there, arm ringing her, above the back of her chair. Once he's retreated, the way she’s looking at him, _dangerously_ shy, it makes him– But that’s _not_ what they’re here for and– He has to make a concerted effort to drag his head round, take in her girls, slipping his keys into a pocket as he does.

“Evenin’,” Rio says, before pulling himself into the stool next to Elizabeth.

He ain’t met ‘em previous, which is kinda the point, but he’s clear on who they are from Elizabeth’s tales. Annie and Ruby are already leaning forwards, four elbows on the surface and a duet of palm-pillowed chins, like this is entertainment they’d happily pay plenty for. Which is ridiculous, given all he’s done is say hi, and kiss her forehead.

“Not been on a double date in a while.” Rio waggles his features enough to make it the jokey kinda smooth. It sets them both howling, and – yeah. They all gotta be a few drinks deep by now.

It also kicks off a trend of Annie and Ruby referring to each other as ‘M’lady’ all night, with increasingly poor attempts at obsequious flourishes. And coming up with more and more unlikely anecdotes from their alleged nuptials. Officiated by Donald Duck. On Mars.

Conversating – around and through the shtick – doesn't present much problem. He asks people questions about themselves for a living, after all. ‘Sides, it can’t be far past twenty minutes before all their phones are out – fingers swiping along slideshows, showing off their offspring, yarning it the fuck up. He keeps an eye on Elizabeth though, while he’s trading lil monster stories with Ruby, or listening to Elizabeth’s sis wax forever onwards on the topic of her teenage son – which is tolerably sweet, to be fair. Cos, though Elizabeth supplies the right kinda words at approximately the correct gaps, she seems a touch – shell-shocked, might be the term for it.

And he don’t think it’s _exactly_ a sore spot. Cos Rio’s got photographs of Marcus about, and Elizabeth’s certainly seen ‘em. Up on the fridge. By his bed. In the closet she’s vocally jealous of. One morning he spied her in there groping one of his shirts. He’s politely not mentioned the incident. Thus far.

Still. “You okay?” he nuzzles to her ear.

Elizabeth does nod. But once the other two are distracted – arguing about cherries, he surmises – she whisper-declares a headache, with a yen to head home. So Rio helps her excuse an exit with grace, implying he needs his beauty rest, her assistance with it too. They leave Annie to hit on the bartender, who honestly doesn’t look like he can make up his mind how he feels about the attention. Ruby’s wheezing amusement, at most half-ducked round a nearby pillar, her rubbernecking _very_ obvious to anyone vaguely sober.

They’re through a significant portion of the drive before Elizabeth mentions her car, suddenly picking up on the fact that they’re not in it.

“Can get it in the morning,” Rio tells her, more vaporous than straight dismissive.

Elizabeth blinks.

“Oh, you all right to drive?”

Not that she seems drunk, exactly. But he recognises she can sink a glass or four without too many outwards signs.

The look she gives him is a little bit poisonous – but the affront nestles its own antidote within, cos there’s surprised fondness seeping at the boundaries.

She mumbles something mostly to herself about the ease of sorting a cab. It’s only then that she starts twisting about, tryna get a good peek out the window. Thinks to enquire, “Where are we going?”

He can’t help his small snort. “Yours.”

Christ, _she’d_ been the one talking ‘bout wanting to go home, right.

Elizabeth gives a satisfied nod to his answer at least. Drifts back to staring unseeing. She’s not rubbing at her eyes. He still reckons her prescription’s way out of date, but he doesn’t make his point about going to the optician for the migraines. This time.

It’s several minutes before, “They really liked you,” unearths.

She sounds, frankly, too awed. Rio mms. What can he say, he’s a charmer. It’s not new information. Being au fait with people, conceptually, is kinda his thing. Though Elizabeth is – powerfully unobservant on occasion.

“They _really_ liked you,” she says again. Then a third instance, after a break of ninety or so seconds.

It starts to rankle. “They shouldn’t?” he asks, taming his tone.

Her mouth reshapes, an irritated diagonal.

Rio fixes his eyes on the road. Safety first, yeah. “You don’t?” It’s light. Droll.

Elizabeth creases a strangled noise. “I don’t–” she begins, but they’re swerving to her empty driveway.

Her jaw snaps shut, reminding Rio of a wooden marionette about to be packed away. Something, the suddenness maybe, scratches at him, welts. He’s got a pretty good guess where this is going, or coming from, or rubbing against. Being told over and over – in deed and by face, if not always speech – that you’re better than a total asshole, isn’t all that fucking flattering, in truth. Smacks of a low bar, for one.

Rio parts his lips, aware of what he wants to do. It’s along the lines of smirking, ‘Oh they hate Dean’s guts?’. He prickles with the sensation that ‘I ain’t him’ is more likely to bristle out.

In reality, he doesn’t get a chance for either. Cos Elizabeth, now inexplicably nimble as, hops right out the car. His mouth yaws tall, nose and one eye scrunching along – almost appalled. Cos, okay, Rio wasn’t getting the strongest sense she wants him to hang tonight, but they could at least finish talking before she storms off. It’s rude – even for her. Only then his door’s practically wrenched open, Elizabeth’s hands finding her hips straight after, a glare upon her face.

“Hurry _up_ ,” she demands, all cranky, while beckoning rapid. Which. _Weird_.

So, fine. He does clamber out, but absolutely not at pace. Rio makes a show of checking shit and stretching, although the latter part is well and truly wasted on Elizabeth. She’s at the front door, key in it, before he’s out the car.

Once he makes it to her, she scrabbles for his hand, without turning her head to source it. Elizabeth _drags_ him through the unlit house with a strange, jerky velocity. He doesn’t even get the chance to toe his shoes off.

“What–” he manages to get out, immediately prior to being yanked on in to her bedroom.

His question or exclamation or wherever the hell he’d been going with that is lost. Several thoughts, too. Cos she slams him unceremoniously, uses his body to thrust the door shut. Gets all up in his face a half-second. Then she’s kissing him so forceful he’s certain his lips’ll swell. Which ain’t a complaint.

Rio’s got one hand groping at her hip, the other holding to her shoulder. It’s instinct, mostly, to spring her towards the bed. But she breaks off, menaces him with a daggered scowl. Elizabeth swats his grip off. Shoves him, hard, back to the door. It’s not enough impact to ache, but she must _hear_ it. She’s on him again in milliseconds, mouth hot upon his. Already battling with his belt, next his zipper. Rio’s unsure what to do with his hands, till she’s rubbing against him, full-bodied, and his left automatically squeezes round her ass. She groans into it, extremely encouraging, and his right goes to join.

But then she pushes out the kiss, grasp cramming back his jaw. Her eyes are _wild_ , frustrated. Accusatory. And he is getting. Some mixed messages. Least until she’s licking at her palm all deliberate, bustling his pants and underwear down his thighs. Soon Elizabeth’s fisting his cock on her damp flesh, readying him and – _yeah_. He can work with that. Only then she’s dropping to her knees, pupils pulsing lust straight into his the whole while. And. God. That’s _even better_. She starts off teasing, whirling a path about his shaft ahead of slipping her tongue to the head. Opens wider, fills her mouth with him. He can’t look away. Thank fuck there’s no need.

She rocks her neck fro and to with a steady, slowish rhythm, moaning round him. He. _He–_ He makes a choked sound, a maybe not wonderfully comprehensible gesture. Elizabeth’s staring up at him, the glimmering surface to her irises clear in the low ambient light, through her far-parted lashes.

“Off,” he grits, pointing.

She says something unintelligible, cheek distending. God she looks good like this, mouth full and dick-distorted. Fuck. Elizabeth just. Looks _good_.

“Shirt,” he says. And she goes back to it proper after that, swallowing and bobbing down his length. Tonguing away.

“Tits,” he adds helpfully. She giggles a little at that, and Rio wants to make her do it again. It vibrated _too_ neat about him.

She’s using one hand to steady herself still, hasn’t broken from their eye contact, so it’s haphazard work – Elizabeth fumbling the buttons of her blouse undone. He catches one snap _off_ under her fingers, and he’s not sure she even notices and that’s just–

She twitches the offending item off, and Rio manages to glower. Or. Maybe it’s a more involuntary lid-folding.

" _Now_."

Her bra follows almost immediately. Perhaps she’d been making that move anyway. Or he can’t tell speed as well as usual. Whatever. It’s an improvement to a situation that was only demanding one in the dimmest way.

“Close,” Rio pants.

Elizabeth dips back a bit, till she’s just sucking at the head, gets a fist jacking him. Slopes a soundless question.

He nods, least he thinks he does, placing one of his hands over hers. It’s a delectable game, manipulating her tiny appendage up and down. He spills in her mouth, lets her swallow the vanguard as he pulls from her. Sprays her lips before his hips bend. He hits her chin, neck, top of those glorious breasts with the rest.

Rio has to lean back against the door, after. Head tipped, mouth sagging at the ceiling, eyes shuffled. He does stick out his arm when he hears her prep for the upwards journey. When he peeks, Elizabeth’s angled a wry brow. She doesn’t take the proffered help, propels herself solo. Shit, he must look _beyond_ wrecked.

She saunters into the bathroom after regarding him, with an almost grating level of self-satisfaction, a moment. Doesn’t shut the door. And he’s just _standing_ , jeans still half-on, as he tracks her positioning by the sink, raising a wet wash cloth to her face.

He finds the energy to shuck – a lot of it. Jacket to footwear. Hauls up his boxers before kicking out the jeans. Inhales deep. Strides to her back.

Gets his arms round her – one fondling her still bare breasts, the other dipping to her waistband. He pops the buttons of her fly. They ogle each other’s mirror images openly. There’s something _extra_ alluring, filthy, to her brazenly demi-dressed this way, expanded by looking at each other – but not directly. Elizabeth gasps when his thumb pins her clit. That’s enough to get him grinning.

It’s not long before Rio’s got three fingers buried to the hilt in her, his teeth loaded with the flesh above her collarbone, a nipple caught rough between nails. Elizabeth’s writhing back against him _hard_ , head drooped over his shoulder, features clenched.

Course, by the time she’s calmed down, his dick’s extremely attendant again. And then she does allow him to get her to the bed, finally. And, okay, it may strike as a tad uninspired, but that might be his favourite location of all to have her.

*

It ain’t the _first_ instance he’s woken in her bed, but not so far off it neither. He’s been in the room enough that it shouldn’t register this noticeable, but there’s something about this place – the stillness, the painstaking femininity of the décor – that heavily reminds Rio of those earliest evenings Maisie Reynolds invited him round, cos her parents were out. He doesn’t _expect_ to discover a stuffed animal beneath his knee or to have to hightail it out a window, but neither’d be the strangest non sequitur from Elizabeth’s cutesy, smoothed centrum.

He flips onto his other side, grumbling against the too-thin sheets, through which he can sense _every_ goddamn dip, and each pokey button-y tuft, those bastards seem to have fucking _staples_ or some shit cresting ‘em. Elizabeth’s got beef with the concept of mattress toppers, which truly might be her most lunatic opinion. Though there’s fierce competition for that crown.

Elizabeth’s absent which is – well, it should be puzzling or annoying or somewhere in the area. And maybe it is. He idly hopes she hasn’t fucked off to collect her mama van at this godawful time. Rio meant to tell her to leave the keys for him to grab in the morning. Cos _he_ was on the water last night, and ain’t prone to apoplectic fits of rage sparked by little beyond, like, noticing that there’s other people on the roads. But there’d been quite a lot in the way of _distraction_ , one sucker punch after another. Anyway, it mostly feels – intimate. Stretching about her sheets, unsupervised. He musta pulled his boxers back on at some point before crashing out, but he’s snug without another stitch.

Elizabeth reappears practically at that thought. She goes a bit startled upon catching his eye, more so when he sits up, fast. He’s gotta shake his skull slightly to deal with the light-headedness.

She’s clutching two coffee cups ahead of her, dressed in a dinky pale peach robe. The fact that she mistakes those things for _modest_ is honestly pretty fucking hysterical. Particularly with how it’s belted. There’s distinction to the ridges of her areolae, the pointing of both nipples. It’s abundantly clear Elizabeth ain’t got nothing on underneath. The visual is semi-obscene – closer to lingerie than anything else.

“Put ‘em down.” Wow, he sounds _hoarse_.

She squints at him, possibly pre-empting, lining up her offence to Rio shit-talking her horrible drip coffee situation, again.

But all it takes is the right kind of sigh – impatient but conspicuous that he’s waiting for her to _get it_ – for Elizabeth to pop them on the nearest surface. Once she’s close enough Rio gathers her in. He's parked at the edge of the mattress, feet spread wide and firm on the carpet. First he burrows against her nominally clothed tits, then he hitches her onto his lap. She squeaks, smacks his shoulder super soft soon as she’s situated. Her legs curl about him as she nestles. He maintains one hand persistent in the centre of her lower back – keeping her close, not letting her worry about slipping.

“Pass me a cup.”

She edges her head back, enough he can see her roll her eyes, over-theatrical.

“Get it yourself,” Elizabeth shoots in response, sparking.

“Want me to let go?” Rio teases, dipping her the slightest amount.

Elizabeth tuts, but then does fish about to grab one, then the other. She handles them with dramatic care, as if they aren’t only filled two thirds, at most.

The co-sipping stays genial. He can’t really see her – not her face anyway, which is tucked over his shoulder. One of Elizabeth’s wrists is slung behind his neck, the other peeking from under his armpit. But he can hear her and feel her and – it’s nice. Once he’s most of the way through the drink – bolting it helps with the urge to point out how disgusting it is, he’s found – Rio increases the number of quick kisses he’s laying to her throat. Labours at nudging her robe from a shoulder with his nose. Not _really_ initiating anything. Just – suggesting.

“Do you think we should organise a playdate?” Elizabeth asks, out of nowhere.

He pitches backwards, still holding her solid. Leans his ‘coffee’-handling arm’s elbow out proper for support.

Gets a real good look at her bemusing features before querying, “This ain’t one?”

She cuts a noise that’d pass for a snare drum sample in a pinch. Strains the skin at the bridge of her nose with her furrow, wrangles a loose fist to the side – like she thinks he’s being a moron.

“For our _kids_.”

Oh. Well. That’s definitely better than the implication that was knocking the back of his mind. Being called ‘daddy’ is pretty much where he draws the line. Even for her. Or, shit, maybe _especially_.

“Thought you didn’t wanna.” It’s mild, his inflection. But still. It ain’t a question.

Elizabeth sighs. Slews to remove the crockery from their way, on autopilot, or to occupy her hands, or a reason to sweep her face from scrutiny a second. Hell, he supposes it ain’t gotta be just one.

“What if you’re going bow tie shopping for Ben with Annie? Or you and Ruby want to see if Marcus and Harry would really get on. And I– I.”

Jesus, she looks forlorn. Rio kisses her, not to shut her up. Well, not in a _bad_ way. To calm her spiral, mostly. And also cos – he wants to, and no one’s encumbered with spill risks now, so there’s no peril if they distract into it.

When he breaks away, Elizabeth’s eyes are sealed. Her mouth pouts after him.

“Could sign ‘em all up for something,” he suggests.

After a weighted wait, it’s, “Yeah?”

He shrug-shuffles, a streak cautious. Or no – just. Unsure. But. “Why not, yeah? See if they hate each other.”

Her lashes flicker, buzzing synapses overt as anything. He could track her thoughts. _Can_ , maybe.

“And – what? We pretend we don’t know each other?”

Elizabeth’s frowning, a possible indictment of someone’s acting skills. He oughta be more miffed. But he gets why she might presume neither of them fit for the task. They’re capable of keeping their hands off each other, pretty well anyway, out and about. Neither yearning for privacy too little to be huge on PDA for its own sake. But. He’ll concede there’s an obviousness to the – fizzing.

“Can say we’re friends, yeah?”

Her eyes narrow, triumphant. “Oh okay, how did we meet then?” Her arms are not crossed and her feet have nothing to stomp against, but no one appears to have filled her voice in on those facts.

Rio snorts, cos – c’mon. “Work.” His tenor stays dry.

Plenty moments he’s been unconvinced Elizabeth’s got a fully functioning memory, but if she needs a refresher on how their paths crossed he will _happily_ draw her over to that kitchen, or the couch, or straight to her shower. Shit, why not all three.

She’s pinked a little, it’s mainly restricted to the zone shelving her nose.

Elizabeth mostly ignores his answer, belts on with, “And what? We let them meet-cute us?” She looks extremely dubious about the notion.

“Sure,” he says. Apparently not with ample sarcasm, cos she gasps, finger pointing critically. He’s gotta interrupt _fast_ to get, “I hear lying to your children is a great idea,” in ahead of the diatribe.

Elizabeth grunts, unimpressed.

And he just – it’s not that he minds discussing the possibility. But it’s early, and this surely don’t gotta be solved right now. She’s crashing forward close to light-speed, ploughing for a simplest solution. And four kids' names are a lot to learn! He ain’t convinced they’re there yet – either of them – and there’s certainly no need to push it. She seems far too frantic – jittery and possessed.

His lips are at her cheek when he asks, “You ever play make believe?”

“Sure,” she says, touch guarded, “when I was a kid.”

His head retracts, minimally. And she must fetch his meaning, cos she smirks soft – equal parts sly and leery.

“Might help you relax.” Condescension’s _almost_ entirely absent.

She pinches his arm in retaliation, but doesn’t argue. Her fingers seem to get a bit lost capering over the bars back there anyway. Rio shifts them, gets his spine against the headboard, Elizabeth loose in his lap.

“What you into?”

She looks rather – bewildered. But eventually gives, “Well I was into, you know. Those medieval-y fantasy novels when I was a teenager.”

His lower lip folds down and out as he smiles. The image she’s conjured is kinda – adorkable. “Oh yeah? Knights and damsels and whatnot?”

Elizabeth mms, squiggling softly west of _total_ agreement. But she doesn’t say anything further.

So he squeezes through the approximation of silk. Throws out, “Okay, how ‘bout you’re a princess stuck in a tower and I–”

“What?” she snaps, scrambling away. “ _No_.”

He frowns.

“ _I_ get to be a knight.” Her finger is poking into her breastbone, hard.

His head sweeps to the side, gaze roaming, taking her in. He can’t help it, the prod, “My squire, maybe.”

She’s instantly outraged. “I’m _older_!”

Rio doesn’t imagine she’s got any concrete proof of that – and is pretty positive that’s why she keeps quizzing him on obscure facts about classic movies. Plus it ain’t exactly relevant. Cos – fantasy, right.

His hand pillows her face, gentle. She leans into the swipe of his thumb at her cleft.

“Not sure anyone’d believe that,” Rio says. “With you all beardless.”

Elizabeth huffs, impressively large; swings a leg down.

“All right, all right.” His palm comes up. “Let’s say we’re both knights. Off adventuring. And we meet – in a bar?”

He gets her broadly appeased, agreeing to an _inn_ instead – because she clearly can’t imagine any version of herself that isn’t pedantic as all fuck. She settles in sort of next to and under him, his arm bracketing her and her head turned up to him. Elizabeth’s mutterings about how _he_ should have to be the squire mostly taper off. They were _not_ what he’d call quiet.

Rio drills forth, laudably. “So. Once I spot you, I can’t take my eyes off you. Cos you stunning.”

She cranes her neck towards him. Gives it a beat. Then, “I can’t stop looking at you either. Even though I _know_ it’s a bad idea. Because I’m dressed as a man, and if anyone finds out– But you look.” Elizabeth swallows. “ _Good_. Very good.”

Her visual focus darts off, then returns to rivet. “And your armour’s nice.”

She offers the courtesy so _genuinely_ , as a meaningful kindness. He wants to laugh. Wants to kiss the corner of her mouth. Throw her down and fuck every thought out her ears.

“About that,” he enquires, “What kinda breastplate situation we talkin’?” He rummages a hand beneath her robe. Cups pointedly.

She squawks, indignant. Still arcs for his touch. After a brief squabble, he consents to suspending his disbelief regarding a convenient run in with a magical blacksmith. Whatever.

Rio clears his throat. “Okay, so we get to talking. Over some ale, yeah?”

“Uh huh,” Elizabeth agrees. “And we’re very – close. And I want to kiss you.”

His mouth pulls in opposite directions. “Yeah?”

Elizabeth nods, resolute. “You have very nice lips.”

“ _You_ do.” Fuck, that oughta strike a whole host cornier to him. And maybe it would’ve if she hadn’t planted a peck on him for it.

“But I don’t act on it,” she says, sliding back in easy. “And eventually I say good night. And go to my room. In the _inn_.”

“Aha,” he says, livelier. “Well I follow a few minutes later, and I stumble upon you getting changed and–”

But Elizabeth shakes her head. “ _Absolutely_ not.”

He’s wiggled his hand down from playing at her chest, to the tie of her robe.

“No?” he asks, then poses a considering noise. “So I…?”

She steamrolls. “I have a secret identity! I’d be _careful_. I wouldn’t just throw it all away for some – tumble.”

He snorts.

But Elizabeth adds, petulance-corded, “I’d have to trust you.”

He bobs his head side to side. Motions for her to go on.

And it all gets rather – elaborate, from there. The barkeep brings them a quest, and they agree to partner up. It’s certainly not _boring_ , he reckons Elizabeth could have a bright future at dungeon mastery if she wished. Or, hell, maybe she’s got a past. Still, he’s a tad bamboozled by all the ornate detailing.

When he transposes, gets his head into her lap, Elizabeth eyes him suspiciously. But Rio smiles serene up to her. Keeps on injecting appropriately when she requires input. She lets him lie.

Around the convoluted mountain pass escapade, he decides to take matters into his own – well. It’s pleasantly uninterrupted work to open her robe, but once he’s mouthing at her tits, Elizabeth wavers to snip, “Oh I’m sorry, am I boring you?”

He lifts off long enough to say, too affable, “No, no. Carry on. Pick axes, yeah?”

She probably scowls, but he ain’t looking the right way, occupied with tonguing her nipple repeatedly. He does feel her shrug though.

And then she carries on, “Okay, we bargain with the villagers...”

So Rio continues merrily too.

He descends along her, licks in her belly button, before _very_ gentle at her clit. Elizabeth shoots him untrusting glares each time, but he doesn’t ever keep at it long. Simply playing with her, working her slowly in a direction. And each occasion she allows him to bide.

Once they’ve slain the dragon-poacher, it gets particularly interesting. Rio’s flicked his tongue inside her, only briefly, mind, a few spells now. Elizabeth’s thighs skip, again, for it.

“Then,” she says, bit breathy, “I go to bathe in the lake, while you’re off gathering supplies. Only you come back, because you forgot your coin purse. And you see – me.”

Rio launches the fuck up, and Elizabeth can’t have been predicting it with how she widens her – well, a lotta parts. It’s easy to crowd her.

“You _lied_ to me.” His voice congests with imperious venom.

Elizabeth’s lower lip trembles. “I– I’m–”

“Betrayed. My. Trust.” Shit, she looks– He hopes he’s not laying it on too thick.

“I’m sorry,” she says, eyes low. Then she wriggles her arms out the robe too. Pushes against him. “You won’t tell?”

“Fuck,” he says. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

She smiles. Too demure, too soft, too sublime.

“And you’ve never–”

“ _No_ _pe_ ,” Elizabeth slices, _very_ flat. “Of course I have.”

He quirks an eyebrow at her. His hand dips. He’s not certain she fathoms how to play this game.

“What happened to your secret identity?” Rio ghosts a finger between her folds.

She huffs, irritated. “So I haven’t been – having relations with knights. Or nobles, or whatever.” Rolls her eyes suggesting he’s the one lacking a grasp. “I’m not sure you understand the details of the setting.”

Elizabeth harps onwards, quotes a swathe of something random she seems to fancy constitutes the chivalric code.

He very much _could_ gripe on having sat through plenty world building.

Instead Rio settles on, “Fine. How ‘bout I make you forget every stable boy and shopkeep you been running around with?”

His fingers breach her as she nods. Elizabeth whimpers. He feels his tongue swirling at his bottom lip, leaning into the crooked grin. Glides himself entirely nude.

“How do you want me to fuck you?”

“ _Yes_.” It’s hissed.

“That’s not an answer, Elizabeth,” he taunts.

“Can you just...!” she begins, supremely bossy, in that way he enjoys. So he extracts his fingers, pops one in his mouth. Thrusts into her sharp. “Shut up,” Elizabeth finishes, weak.

He gets teeth to a nipple, thumb at her clit, as he pounds at her.

“Can’t believe you lied to me.” It’s half-muttered, but she catches it. Might have been waiting for the thread.

“I’m. Sorry.” Each word throbs out on an exhale. Her body bounces with – for – him. “I wanted you to. See me.”

“Yeah?” Rio pushes. “That why you was always wiggling for me?”

Her eyes clasp. She mmms like her mouth saturated with cake. Tightens her hold on him.

“What else did you want, Elizabeth?”

She’s inspecting him again. “You touching me.”

  
Well he certainly is, but he rubs faster. Doesn’t allow his gaze to avert from hers, not in the slightest.

“Kissing me. _Please_.”

He meets her mouth, but she’s mostly just panting on his lips. It gets him smirking. She must take it as a challenge, cos then she’s clutching the back of his head, holding him to her. Tongues with him, breath harsh.

“Don’t. Stop.” She speaks it into him. Like it’s a concern.

“It’s wrong to lie,” he informs her. “Maybe you gotta be punished.”

Elizabeth squirms, tellingly.

“You gonna be a good girl?”

“You want. Me to be?”

_Fuuuuuuck_. Her delivery is aggressively coy, and appears to set her all the way off. It’s like a person laughing – heaps too hard – at their own joke. She convulses and judders under and round him. _He_ manages to keep it pretty quiet when he comes. She gets a whole hive of bees in her bonnet about the neighbours hearing – which they probably can’t, and, whatever, who fucking cares. And, anyway, he's experienced the disturbing volume of Elizabeth's vibrator, stands to reason she's already deafened everyone nearby.

He don’t try to help it after, but he ain’t definite he could. It’s gotten a little too addictive, already. Rio drags her to the edge of the bed. Folds himself into one of her bizarrely constructed chairs – cos the horrid carpet is murder on his knees. Hers still look kinda unhappy from last night, so he strokes ‘em gentle. Licks his come from her, tastes how they meld as he tips Elizabeth into another orgasm with rapid touches. Kisses her deep subsequently, lets her savour the mess they made.

He waits till they’re both respiring next to normal. When her robe and his underwear are back in place. Then he asks what she’s doing Wednesday afternoon. He knows she won’t have the kids, ain’t working that day neither.

Her, “Why?” is very taut. Like she anticipates he’s gonna announce she gotta joust him, or that he’s signing all five children up for lion-taming lessons without offering her a say first.

“Said I’d go watch the game with Mike and Micky, if you wanna join?”

She snorts, very undignified. He discerns why – even though he’s explained, more than twice, that he doesn’t choose – or refuse – friends based on their names alone.

But then she sobers. Considers. “Do I have to wear a lucky shirt?” Sourness floods.

He pulls her to him. Doesn’t ask. It’s pretty fucking obvious. Besides, it’s a great opening. Rio gets his hands _precisely_ where he desires. Purrs, “I’ll be your lucky shirt, darling.” Holds onto her tits, real tight.

She elbows him.

“Wear whatever you want,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” she asks. Then, before he can even answer, “Okay.”

*

He ends up driving Elizabeth to her car. Cracks a joke ‘bout her walking like she just got off a horse as they wander over. She deploys an unnecessarily mean string of comments about his hypothetical lance-wielding abilities.

They form a diminutive convoy back – though they don’t get too far. Not fast anyway. She pulls over, and of course Rio does the same. To check on her at least. Turns out the diner she loves recently reopened. She’s doubtless got a kitchen packed with flour and eggs and so on, but he’s not gonna thumb up his nose at the prospect of pancakes. And they’re somewhat less likely to get distracted in this setting, so – sure. He can linger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beth's lady knight stuff definitely owes much to Tamora Pierce's oeuvre, as well as the Jane and the Dragon books.
> 
> They're both fucking nerds.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> even (especially?) control freaks get tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB includes light bondage, some like voyeurism/exhibitionism vibes, spanking Mentions, lingerie, mention of feet, masturbation, i guess phone sex, fluff, the concept of sleep being very sexy, an envelope mention, buzzshaming, technically blindfolding, like some kind of mess kink thing, light edging, implied past arguing over blankets, Rio/his phone Vibes
> 
> I'd say this is mostly Bethporn but at various points Rio does also sound quite a lot like he wants to fuck: a tree, a beach, the concept of sleep & himself so hmm

Sometimes (not how’d strike as a strict ‘often’ though there has been _firm_ occasion), Elizabeth enjoys punishment. Or, mm. Maybe that ain’t the exact what of it.

Nearer: after too long adhered tight at control (trusting no one else involved enough to let the reins slip even a _micron_ ), there’s gigantic relief in setting all that restraint down a moment. And that’s– Hm. Right.

Related reflections _sure_ ’ve been playing just below the surface of Rio’s mind today, tried at bubbling their way on up. All afternoon digging at the archives. During Rach’s parting bitchings ‘bout his supposed chicken scratch maiming the paperwork, how he’s gotta get better at delegating shit to Dags or Bull, on the aloe not catching enough sun. (Not only is her material stale, it’s grievously inaccurate; the plants’d all be thriving no hassle if it weren’t for Rach’s over-watering penchant.) While wolfing his pad ki mao at the place by the office with the rickety tables and bronze-threaded wallpaper Rio ain’t convinced he’s ever known the name of to forget, still pouring over the magnified photographs of those newspaper clippings and striving to avoid throwing food anywhere but his mouth without accepting the inconvenience of actually looking away from the articles.

The fore of his thoughts hasn’t been oozed into so much with consideration on Elizabeth’s…trends, but those’ve been – yeah, thrumming throughout.

Cos the two of ‘em’s lacked opportunity at making the most of this childless-crossover week; each extra-loaded with busy-ness peaking alternate, and aggravating, cross their schedules. He with a brace of tense cases (big bucks in some of this historic shit though, the more engaging challenges often parcelled with) and Elizabeth – jesus. Rio don’t envy her. Even with these shit-fested days he’s weathered recent, wouldn’t support a hypothetical switch-around.

Bull across both PTAs, inclusive of rumblings on a shady coup. That infamous recital; the junior MMA tournament same afternoon. And her youngest’s class had, for some godawful reason, forsaken their traditional bake sale for a _soap_ one. Elizabeth been muttering lye facts or conspiracy theories on allergens any time he spoke to her of late. All that while being a person _and_ refrigerator down at her work the previous few days too. The last time Rio heard her anywhere near this stressed…yeah. _Exactly_.

See that was the night her ex, having taken the full clutch off on that first lengthy trip, told her three of the kids were running fevers.

After a _period_ freaking, Elizabeth'd disappeared to the bathroom. Him sticking perched at the end of her bed, thumbs whirring upon the text chain with his sister in the lapse, not craving to crowd. (Rio remembers the conversation real clear, cos Rita stayed missish with him next day over not getting back to her final questions fast enough. Given she _hadn’t_ made too much food as it turned out, he still reckons that entire snit hit heaps higher than reasonable.) The rustle of Elizabeth’s soles over prickly carpet got him glancing up again and. She just had this _expression_.

One that made him fling his phone up the bed.

She sorta crawled over his lap, all frantic melancholia, and he – he was almost worried ‘bout _spooking_ her. Unsure if saying anything at all could do much but worsen as she potently denied the possibility of eye contact, staring a beeline ahead like the pleats to her curtains held heretofore unconsidered secrets of boundless merit.

As it transpired, he didn’t need to form a word. Not with the way Elizabeth reached back to drag up her skirt, deviously deliberate, then grabbed his hand. Led it there. Murmuring what mighta been a plea.

God, her ass went so fucking _red_ in the aftermath.

Rio watched the disjoined outlines of his fingers tessellating and wobbling across it as he fucked into her, subsequent. Drank in the way she hissed on through. Smacked her ass, just once more, while she circled the edge – apparently sent her right the fuck over with it too. Maybe louder than he ever heard her before. Her cunt choking his end out him straight next.

It’s a good memory, sets a pleasing itch beneath skin.

So too that other joggling, more recent. Not so different – least in its start. Though she was holding more assured by then. Or, feasibly, simply had less frazzling to bear that period.

He didn’t even realise she’d shed most her clothes till he returned with the drinks. Those glasses found the surface of his coffee table fast, clacking coarse. Elizabeth down to nothing but bra and heels, and. _And_. There’s just fucking _something_ to her part-dressed and disarrayed, hair flustered by a quick undressing, which leaches his brain out his nostrils in a mere minim.

She musta shoved him backwards onto the couch, then. Or mmm, maybe he immediately intuited where he needed to be… Either way, soon she was spread across him arching her spine just _so_.

That image persists imprinted somewhere behind his corneas, interlaces over the sootily twilit view out the windshield almost. Elizabeth’s tits trussed up and forward-centre, a basically gift-wrapped vision all of their own, only more appetising in contrast with her waiting ass.

The gleam of slick flowing down her surging pussy mesmerised Rio as his hand landed at those superbly swaying cheeks again, again, again, again, again. She was whimpering pretty through it all, yeah, but the delighted scream when he slapped palm hard over cunt – his undoing. Cos (after eliciting a short shout-sequence via repeats) he couldn’t _not_ shuffle his way underneath, set his mouth where his hand’d struck.

Her hips bucked wild as he ate and ate and ate, and – sure, yes. Elizabeth certainly did not complain on how their night turned. But still. It’s– It’s whatever. He just – if she’s asking for something, Rio wants to be able to give it.

Shit, maybe always has.

The vision stays swimming, nigh on _jackknifing_ ; threatens to engulf his mind as he absently locks the car. Even when he’s checking this new fleet of messages attacking his inbox, autopiloting a slow walk down the path to her back yard. (Hoping he’s as unobserved as assumed, not thirsting to get his so-dubbed 'tirade' on gawping dawdlers thrown back at his nose yet again). His foot remembers the funny curve by the gate for him majestically well, avoids a stumble in the gloom.

Rio nudges her glass door with his elbow – left unfastened for him too, just as Elizabeth said.

His eyes only pull up off the display once he’s truly inside. She’s not visible in the low-lit room, he don’t discern any soundtrack to potterings from the kitchen or similar neither.

His shoes get toed off slow. Regarding her apparent absence there’s a feeling of – of not-exactly-agitation. A charge for certain swirls. Cos: she’s put much of it behind her for the week now, the soaps and the assholes and the whatnot. Hell, Elizabeth sounded almost _drunk_ on liberation down the phone earlier. And yes, he does gotta be up early come morning, with a shit-ton of interviews to look forward to. But screw all that. Her kids are back tomorrow evening and he ain’t seen her in days and that’s all – it’s fine. It’s whatever. Just, tonight’s a chance getting full advantage fucking wrung out it so help 'em.

“’Ey?” Rio calls out, locking up his route in and fiddling the curtains home.

He hears a muffled yelp as he’s tucking his, now silenced, cellphone away to a pocket. It’s followed by what sound like grumbles.

Soon Elizabeth’s head is popped out her en suite. Her gaze finds his, neck bending sharp with it. She looks almost affronted by his presence.

“You’re early!” It has the timbre of an accusation.

Rio peers at the navy Roman numerals outfitting the front of his watch. The one _she_ ’s called pretentious on at least three occasions. Once buried under a blatant fake cough, which had to be just about the most juvenile shit he’s ever experienced. Though the way it set her giggling had been sincerely cute. Especially while he was tickling the eruption enormous…

“What, by like four minutes.” It’s addressed at least half to himself.

When his focus skips back up, her face appears kinda _sour_ – like he’s playing the judgemental prick or some shit.

And he’s about to – well, _something_. Fuck knows precise details, beyond the fair chance her own predilection for hair-splitting’s being namechecked.

But her style sorta softens, sudden. It’s like he’s inspecting footage slow-mo: how Elizabeth’s vision ceases catching on him, zooms broader to her space – only to zone back tight.

And then she’s barrelling out the bathroom.

Rio registers, dimmish, that the buttons to her (positively _phosphorescent_ ) blouse ain’t done up quite right before her face is demanding attention. Those plush lips present a little dry; he graciously swipes a sheen over them.

But just as he’s got her pressing all merino against him – his tongue nudging the waiting tip of hers, that eternally savage mouth inching wide – Elizabeth pushes back against his abdomen, sighing silvery. Leverages herself away.

His hand tightens in place along her ribcage, harnesses harsh, nonetheless Rio’s eyes ruffle open – brow above the right one framing a query.

“I have a surprise,” she whispers.

His face must be saying _go on then_ well enough cos Elizabeth’s giggling as she leads him to the bed.

She prods him gentle-firm, gets him seated on mattress before imparting, “It’s a _surprise_.”

When she pantomimes ponderous blinks Rio finds he’s minded to indulge her hint. Shuts his eyes with a put on sigh.

He hears that hmph, then the rustling. Next there’s tapping on the bridge of his nose. So he peels up to a squint slow, primed to shutter back down if he has understood the situation incorrect.

Elizabeth’s holding some cheap eye mask his way like she don’t trust him not to peek. Which – okay _kinda_ fair at this juncture, given she’s prolonging the whole thing unduly. Whatever, fine.

Once it’s in place though the clucking coasts on! She starts talking ‘bout having _another_ around that could be placed atop, thicken up the barrier ‘enough’… And this has all surely stomped yards past ridiculous by now.

Rio huffs ahead of flipping the mask up to brandish his eye roll at its intended audience. Then, without offering her much chance to fuss farther, swivels himself round to face the wall above that quagmire of cushions, rebounding slightly against her springy mattress. His legs lotus as he gets the scratchy mask back at purported proper position.

“ _Th_ _is_ do?”

She makes a peevish noise which sets his shoulders stiff, only then she’s kissing the side of his head quick before retracting off.

So he sorta – allows himself to relax to the unseen quiet as Elizabeth, well _presumably_ dawdles back in the bathroom. Not that he’d honestly be all that shocked if the next din caught is her falling from the roof.

It’s kinda meditative, kinda anticipatory. Not quite how he expected to be unwinding tonight but he’ll allow her whim a chance, sure.

Eventually he discerns that creak again. He knows she’ll tend to the whinging hinge, doubtless finds it more irritating than he. But Rio wonders if maybe he oughta offer. At least acquaint himself with the whereabouts of her nozzles. She _has_ been so slammed after all.

“Turn round.” Her demand eats that thought from existence.

The grey sleep mask is pulled away first though. Mostly so he can fling it far, proper pointed.

Then Rio slides his legs out in unison to find floor, begins pivoting about. His feet have barely grazed ground when he falters – halts. Cos she– Fuck.

Elizabeth’s decked out in lingerie, not an alien concept but this is… A scene unlike any he’s beheld. Delicate ivory lace only vaguely obscuring pebbled nipples. Sheer – _thin_ too – matching stockings hitting a small ways above knee, topped with vine-esque details. Nothing attached to hold up _these_ , he can’t be sure that’s because of the pool hall incident but if he had to wager Rio knows which direction he’s leaning. Mostly mesh panties, practically fishnet in their mid-section, baring sectors of the pale skin of her mound; akin to snowflakes scantily surrounding some marble relief. The panties are topped with a floral segment, how that leads up and round the cursive trajectory of her hip, kinda reminiscent of a garter belt, draws his scrutiny. Lowest is a silken panel, Rio swears he can see a splotch glistening there as he takes in the whole – Elizabeth’s eagerness stamping already.

He’s immediately too hard, like he’s been rubbing at himself a while. There’s no pause, though might be there is a tug, to Rio’s grin as he boosts himself full upright. Cos she shines gorgeous, yeah. But also cos he was so _so_ right. When he mentioned, the other week, wanting to see her (more specific: that blush) in white.

It’s – shit, even better than envisioned. The pink tones to Elizabeth’s strawberries-and-cream complexion lifted by the set anyway. Flush grows high on her chest, throat mottling with, emphasising sharp and making it more obvious than always that the mass of her tits never gets to see the sun. Starbursts of fuchsia travel those compelling upper thighs, against the white night of her skin.

And fuck, that’s without him getting in a single touch.

She crooks a finger, right in front of the centrepoint of her clamouring cleavage. Where his contemplation stuck again.

Rio meets her eyes, it appears she’s appreciative of the precision perusal.

He orients. Steps once, twice. Twirls his left index finger 720 degrees, purposeful, as he does.

Elizabeth glimmers in a way which looks half-derisive but definitely ain’t meaning to be. Them fervid teeth hold at ripe bottom lip as her gaze trembles down a sec.

She gives him a slow lil turn, and _fuck_. Her ass is framed so damn _good_ by more of this lacy floral stuff; the curve of the panties soft and inviting towards her cleft.

The spin back to face him is finishing as he meets her, and Rio gets his arms _a_ _round_. Pulls their pairing close, squeezing at susceptible buttocks in tandem.

Hell, he’s barely sure where to go; impulses aiming too many directions in parallel.

His head folds upon those ticcing tits – Rio mouths at first one nipple then its slightly shyer twin through the pale webbing. Elizabeth moans till he’s gotta pull back, look at her proper. She smiles sorta smug, as if she was kinda banking on this response. And he enjoys that, he does. But also. There’s that part of him chafing against the notion of predictability.

So he just breathes a breve. Tries to discover a hold of himself. Grabs a firmer one of Elizabeth, lifts to toss her down almost supine upon the mattress.

She squeals as she bounces.

Then he’s crawling for her legs, stalks ‘em up the bed. Shoulders her thighs expansive with a pair of diagonal swipes. Grins into the crotch before mouthing at her slit through the fine fabric. Her groans are rhythmic till he’s repeatedly poking over clit with the honed spike of his tongue. There Elizabeth rather relinquishes vocal control.

The wet patch across her panties keeps growing in dimension and concentration till basically the entire section’s turned _transparent_. The coral of her pouting pussy well visible through this lucent covering, reminiscent of the cellophane window to the packaging of that sashimi-grade salmon he always buys. (The stuff she, ludicrously, keeps accusing him of overcooking).

The heat of her cunt is obvious, wafts warmth over his face as he teases. He can barely wait to delve inside that lushness, but. Rio won’t let himself so much as think ‘bout getting out his pants cos he knows he won’t be holding back once he does and Elizabeth looks so fucking wrecked already – apple-cheeked; conflagrations painted across practically all the skin in sight, sweat spreading along it oil-like; wholly pupil-wild, and he. Just. Wants. More.

There’s a horizontal seam along the silky centre so he drags it exactly atop her clit – swears he senses the swollen thing _pounce_ his way – before getting his thumb circling and circling and circling. Allows his face to roam higher now, tastes the archipelago of freckles below her belly button on his way to biting up her tits. Strains not to rub much against her. For now.

Once he’s up on his knees above, his spare hand reaches beneath and unhooks that magnificently meagre excuse of a bra. Elizabeth essentially provides no help with the removal, preoccupied with writhing and warbling, eyes fastened watertight. He ain’t exactly faulting her, swells eager with the effects of – delaying true contact.

She stays making these small sexy grunts as her hips strain down, driving her on his thumb while it continues provoking her – close and closer. Those crystallised nipples, each looking equal to a fair fight with a piece of quartz at present, continually hiking high for him. 

Suddenly her eyes snap wide. “Fuck me,” she croaks, infinitely _raw_.

At Elizabeth’s mewled begs he merely gnaws hard over her balming breast. She pushes into it, groaning. The backs of her hands slap weakly onto bedding.

His hips rock over Elizabeth’s stomach – bodies nudged close with her, likely intentional, arcing.

So he plunges two fingers against – _in_ – her, sloppy silk of the panties tunneling at her cunt with it. Rio fucks into her like that, necessarily shallow. It’s just a pair of his fingertips popping in, out, in – but that’s enough along with the thumb circuits. Her muscles ripple round him, lock on, as an orgasm pumps its way across her. Elizabeth’s face is trapped between absolute indignance and intense appreciation as she uselessly tries to suction him deeper while her throat emits a paroxysm of fracturing whines, and it’s. Fuck, one of the hottest goddamn things he’s ever experienced.

Cos Rio loves watching her fragment, coalesce. Maybe best when he’s not so close to losing it himself. Can perceive _proper_. Commit to memory.

As he prompts her onto all fours after, standing to best flurry out his clothes, she’s still kinda trembling with it. And he’s gotta keep a hand at the base of his cock cos. Fuck, he just does. It genuinely feels like the entirety of his lip’s curled amongst the grip of his incisors.

Rio scuffles the panties down her thighs before ankle-yanking, till she’s hovering the foot of the bed. He suspects his presence behind and sorta over her the main thing preventing Elizabeth from tipping right off.

He possesses exactly no plans of extracting that laced scrap off – panties stuck near knees is a _good_ look on her after all, better yet with the shimmery spectral material still encasing and enunciating those statuesque legs. But then Rio gets a decent glimpse of the interior. Truly fucking ruined – slick like someone’s been rubbing a hellish mix of petroleum jelly and snot all over the silk. So he’s gotta work ‘em off her, even as Elizabeth’s yowling her frustration, scrubbing dewy and determined back at him.

Rio drops the panties below her bowing head.

He catches her pulling the same as him, not registering the sight till she’s almost looking away. It’s as her neck ricochets back (he’s sure her eyes are _wide_ , don't require vantage for that claim) where he allows his sopped cock to breach her finally.

It turns her complaint-tinged, “Jesus,” at the display into something tonally _very_ different. That might cover the quenching multitude whooshing out his mouth some way too.

His left hand flattens under, at her mid-section. Hoists.

Elizabeth’s that combination of so fucking slippery and so fucking snug yet which gets her bodily shuddering from the initial instants. He clocks her elbow brace on the sheet, a fist knocking forehead, as he carves his way deeper.

“Don’t even think of chucking those,” he whisper-growls at her ear. Withdraws; returns.

His arm swings over the top of her leg, pulling her back at a helpful angle. Rio’s thumb rubs at the barely-there stubble round her pudenda, before hooking higher where thigh and groin turn indistinguishable. The peach fuzz reminds him of brushing at his own face sorta, there’s something rousing to sensing himself on Elizabeth in ways unexpected. Recollective of scenting himself all across her. His cock thumps, or. Might be simply evinces like it, among the vivid squeeze of her.

She _does_ respond to his demand, though not with haste. Makes some noises which, since he’s feeling generous, he acknowledges could just about be interpreted as chat on cleaning the underwear up good. Her ‘new’ is arguably comprehensible, but that ‘expensive’ couldn’t be recognised without abundant context.

“Nah,” he counters, smirking against – then biting deep – the side of her neck as he grinds down to indulge.

Psychedelic patterns linger wherever his touch moves along her deceptively pliant flesh, shapes pressured in dramatic against that hot pink flush, similar to shoving self against soggy shore. It’s so– _She_ ’s always– Swelter rumbles along every axon; crackles in the no-space between their coupling, gravity distilled.

Her whimpers for his momentary egresses take on a notable desperate edge, already.

“Want you in ‘em and nothing else next time I’m here. Just that ruined. Fucking stinkin’.”

Elizabeth spasms as she protests, the tempo of her leg’s knocks against his side roughly doubling.

And see, Rio reckons he could probably extract an agreement for it. Right now. If he wanted. But what’s the point in bullying someone to a pact they’ll certainly renege on. Beside the lewd notion’s enough really, clearly working some power on her; pussy constricting like a mussurana, juice _spilling_.

He does kinda wanna lift the panties back, bury his nose in the thick, savoury scent of her. But the room’s already pungent with the meld of them. Rio’s pretty sure their shared taste’ll be gumming his mouth soon enough. Plus his arms – and more – are rather preoccupied at present. His sweat’s dripping onto her back, he can _see_ it spot. She’s gushing down his cock, he can’t – won’t – hold on much longer either. And he ain’t finishing anywhere but deep in h– _Elizabeth’s_ cunt right now. It feels a lot like coming h– Coming – com–

*

Elizabeth’s passed out before Rio’s successfully struggled up. He’s without heart to wake her, resigns to receiving complaints on _that_ fact pre-breakfast. Simply removes the (barely) remaining stocking and tucks the bottom of the cover right over her toes before tidying space and self.

She doesn’t stir when he clambers back in bed after his shower so he soaks the option to observe. Is smiling while he fumbles for the sparkly, braided cable plugged over the largely empty nightstand that houses little beyond a cluster of books (ordered by publisher, an expectedly idiosyncratic system). This charger used to live in her kitchen, Rio recalls it glinting over by the alleged coffee-maker. But it’s tarried here ever since he asked to use one a few weeks ago and that’s. Yeah. It’s nice.

Ain’t like he’d feel annoyed if it moved (especially cos he could just pinch hers, heh). Still the sight is, hmm. Well, whatever the germane term for pleasant in this familiar type fashion'd be. 

Once his phone’s on charge Rio fiddles around with a few apps, mostly confirming everything’s set up okay for the morning. He’s yawning as he checks the alarm then darkens the screen. Turns off first one lamp, leans upon Elizabeth for the other. Snuggles in to her warmth.

*

Consciousness stutters upon him with a manner that informs his instincts he’s _been_ wakened, rather than roused natural.

Eyes still closed, Rio waits for the telltale chime from his cellphone. As that refuses to materialise his ears strain, searching for a noisy bird. Elizabeth’s right side neighbours do not attend to their roofing appropriately. But the world’s bathed in eerie residential quiet.

Blinks fumble his eyes open, they absorb the pretty pastel light and– _Oh_.

Something wet and familiar brushes his cock, again. Rio's lids slip back to half-mast as his hips nudge slightly. Through the semi-screening his gaze catches a concealed shape shadowing under covers.

What he mutters must be close enough to her name cos Elizabeth sort of shuffles up higher as well as yanks the darker blanket a lil above her head, holds it aloft like someone gripping a magazine as makeshift shelter against a downpour. She’s in that black citrus-printed robe, the bulk of her’s obscured but the view he’s granted of her chest suggest the item might be pooling well open. Her loitering hand strokes at and around his taint.

She’s got a _real_ minxy squirm to her face. He's partial to looking at it.

“Mornin’,” rasps out of him.

Her beam widens, making him wanna kiss her despite his unwillingness to acknowledge consciousness. He tries to pull his left arm forwards to reach out, loads up his head with a turn to glance at the expected location of wristwatch round the same time without really being cognisant of that logic. None of which works well. Used as he is now to Elizabeth falling asleep on a limb or two of his, waking to whichever playing dead, Rio ain’t exactly perturbed by the bust. Simply forms a second, not much less lazy, attempt.

No, though. His head struggles to get at a good position for appraisal. Elizabeth suddenly becomes embroiled by a fit of hiccups or similar, the noises confusing his sleepy brain further.

She bites fast and hard at his hipbone, those dainty fingers splay synchronised distraction up his length. The nutty fragrance of her favourite perfume’s floating, it slightly dampens but cannot obscure that sweat and sex below.

“What the fuck,” Rio murmurs upon, eventually, achieving sighting: his hands bound to her new ( _flagrantly_ copycat) headboard by what must be the robe’s belt.

She’s nudged almost the whole way out from the covers when he tilts his face back round to find her. The visual robs his breath – robe flowing _wide_ , gently casing her otherwise naked form. Kneeling up, spine severest straight.

“I begged.”

A very distracted hmm emerges from his throat.

“Last night,” Elizabeth continues – amusement appears to zig into her tone.

He forces his line of sight to pour up for her expression. Which resembles sweet – lips budding as if calm; placatory. But there’s a storm built round those livid-hued irises.

“Last night what?”

She scoffs. Gestures an arm like she’s practising a serve. “I begged you to. To screw me.”

The irritable motions and huffs are jiggling her tits around in – in _interesting_ ways.

Rio blinks with barely-awake bafflement. One of her hands has found a route back under the blanket remaining across him, is rubbing tantalising at tip now.

“You don’t remember me fucking you cos–”

“Yes dear,” she sighs, attempting beleaguered. “ _Eventually_.”

Rio grunts, gesturing his head up to his hampered hands. “Payback?”

She offers a demure shrug. “Censure.”

Her smile becomes very enthused. That groping too.

And _god_ , he wants to get lost in it. But–

“Baby, what time is…” Rio trails off, quitting the notion of contorting for a glimpse. Cos he’s spotted it. The buttery blue-grey leather of his watch strap. Loose round _her_ wrist.

Elizabeth’s grin is wicked when his attention darts to it.

She finishes up straddling, begins _varnishing_ the underside of his cock with her wet as she swipes herself over and over where he’s curved back against belly – with him feeling like he must be leaking onto his own skin.

Screw it, he thinks. It’s early-early, right? He reckons that’s what the light’s saying anyway. Not that he trusts he makes much of a reliable witness, given the way his vision’s pixelating. But – shit, if this leads to a late start which’d surely knock his packed day pear-style, he’ll flatten it back somehow. Because this is how much Elizabeth wants him here right now, and fuck. That’s worth it. It just is.

His fingers twitch, try to get a sense of the knots. Rio’s pretty sure he could untie whatever this situation is. Normally, anyhow. His hands feel clumsy, phalanges cumbersome – there’re loops curling upon loops upon thorny _loops_ , decoys twisting along the ringing, and he just. Yeah, ain’t much concerned with finding a way free at present.

The way Elizabeth works herself onto him is delectable torment – leaning back at her elbows, high up on thighs. Bowing about as far off him as she can. And sure, he lusts to hold her. To lick along that eluding skin. But most of all he wants to surrender to continue watching her exactly like this, stay hypnotised by the curling actions of her resolute pelvis; cunt driving down to climb again – revealing the sight of her split open. Over him. His neck burns with its crook, feels as if a glowing cartoonish bullseye is blooming there – illustrating the before segment in some corny pain relief commercial. He does _not_ care.

Rio can’t seem to get enough of anything – breath, blood, beats. Has no idea how long she’s been riding him, painfully slow. The era before, back where he weren’t ludicrously stimulated, exists only murkily.

Elizabeth gets a hand up, flicks at her clit. His shoulder staggers as he instinctually seizes to pinch at her.

He’s so certain she’s gonna pull off him when she’s close, got that glaze to her features stating if she ain’t starting to view fireworks it’s cos she’s seeing nothing at all. By and by, where she’s mostly done awing and twinging, with him _so_ achingly near, Rio tries to ready himself for any surprise – even as he’s thrusting naive. It’s such fucking contentment pulsing into her when she _don’t_ divert he almost can’t stand it. Amid blinding bolts he’s hit with the certitude, only authentic for the moment, he is gonna live _forever_.

She soothes at him; he finds reality again.

Rio lets her unbind his wrists, assuring himself he coulda managed it fine – is simply being polite.

“Not sure you’ve got enough time to shower now.” Elizabeth’s smirking at him.

His lashes skirmish, display muted curiosity, as he rotates both hands. She surely knows he’s swinging home first thing, brought essentially nothing with him last night.

But, tapping idly at his pec, she trills on, “Maybe you have to spend the day like that. Soaked in… In _me_.”

She makes a plainly pornographic sound, very obviously on purpose, along with a mean face. His drained dick hoofs inside her.

Rio doesn’t know which instinct to dent with first, fuck. So he kisses Elizabeth moistly as he pulls her down upon and then reluctantly off of him. Swipes his stuff up blankly while stumbling for the en suite to at least achieve basic ablutions.

Once he’s outta there, teeth minted and reclothed entirety spreading alive, making decent time, he finds Elizabeth sprawled on her front – definitely defying physics, he can’t understand where her tits fit themselves – up top of the jumbled covers. A corner of the theoretically periwinkle sheet is still curved from proper place, doubling back towards her outspread right hand. His watch he discovers next to the muddling paperbacks.

Rio’s lips quake, firm. Finally split wide.

Her robe’s still on, rows of lemons and limes ranging – tauter over her backside. After fastening the buckle at his wrist, Rio convinces the sheeny material up her body a minute. Just to marvel at the sight. Elizabeth’s perfect plump ass for one. But also the glimpse at flamed cunt her stretch affords – and of his come dropping down it, tangibly messing blanket.

He probably oughta do something – wipe her clean. Get her under cover at least. But he wouldn’t wanna be late, right?

He bends to kiss the static fluff of her hair, grinning deep.

*

Long nights roll to long days, blur back again. Red bleeds across the sky as he catches another sunrise from the wrong side, certain his bleary eyes attempting to sink deep into skull match it perfect.

That concept of _vacation_ knocks at his synapses. The wherewithal to conjure up any detail for daydreams of one is largely absent, beyond a pleasant leafiness, but the word alone in his part-conscious stream is enough to summon an almost sexual thrill.

Wednesday night Rio’s gotta plead rain-check at Mick. While he’d been looking forward to catching up over a beer or four, he’s too damn shattered.

Only turns out he’s also so wired he ain’t getting that early hay-hit he was craving, one of them fun lose-lose situations. He forgot exactly why he planned in that late distraction, maybe.

It’s half a week till his kid’s back with him, and – it’s not loneliness, nah. Hell, Rio prefers flying solo probably too much of the time. Turns antsy around most soon enough. But it’s simply – he and Elizabeth didn’t get much time together this go round, and he knows her sister (generally eager on childminding duties) is outta town for the next lil while and he’s just… Well, he’s just here doing nothing much, and she’s busy with her returned brood and it hits kinda different with a _contrast_ , is all.

He has sorta been toying with the idea of talking to Marcus’ mom lately. At least floating the suggestion of reorienting the schedule. Finding a way to match Elizabeth’s closer. It ain’t something he takes light, messing with Marcus’ routine. But it’s an option, they’ve switched it up before for whatever reasons. Rio’s sure Rhea’d be open to it. But he also knows he’ll be setting himself ajar for a royal ribbing, can predict pretty much the exact words in the precise order that’d be cooed his way. Which makes him reticent, wanna be sure it’s really… _Smart_.

Restless energy sets him needing to _do_ something, anything. Body exhausted, brain craving habitual shit. A problem to solve, engross. It’s almost annoying there’s nothing to tidy beyond the single beer bottle requiring a walk to the recycling. Clean surfaces and empty hamper present as taunts. He’s half-minded to tornado up some fresh project, just to cow his whooping mind. But trawling through his closet or cabinets to seek everything worth getting rid of sounds pointless, it can’t be as much as a month since he had that mammoth sort out. And he’s gonna be dreaming of filling in forms after all them hours of paperwork earlier as it is so he really can’t bring himself to tackle the thick survey Marcus’ school sent in that offensively furry envelope right now.

Maybe the pantry’s worth an audit, in case there’s something expired needs throwing out…

He’s pulled from the dimly enticing thought by repeated vibrations in his pocket. Elizabeth’s contact details send a smile to his face.

In response to his greeting, she drawls all breathy, “Heyyyyy.”

“You good?” Rio asks, suspecting he can tell the answer to that one.

“Might’ve had a few wines.” Elizabeth follows up her confession with an aggressive shush, despite the fact he’s remained silent.

Gears shift as he notices the pattern to her breaths. Practically _pants_.

“Uh huh. Feeling good are we.”

“Feeling. Sexy.”

Rio hmmns while settling into the couch, blood already fizzing lightly. “Oh I see, you get all horny-drunk and–”

“ _Sexy_!” Her interruption is a bit too loud. She must realise cos Elizabeth recalibrates to hiss, “I said sexy.”

This new pitch seems to hit perfect for dashing out the speaker through his aural passages, deep into the central mass of him. Things appear to turn a lil gigglish at the end of her statement though, rather messing with Elizabeth’s frosty intent.

Rio squashes his snort. Focuses on _listening_. “What are you…” His words trail off at her heavy humour-tinged huff. “…up to?”

There’s a light whimper outta her and. Uh _huh_.

“Got your hand on your clit, yeah?”

Her assent flows through moans.

And he just. He can picture it, too easy. Elizabeth grinding down against her wayward palm, who knows how many cloth barriers obscuring the show. Or, nah. Maybe whatever jammed down her thighs, pith now niftily bare as those brimming hips gallop.

“Got something in you?”

“Not. Yet.” Elizabeth bites out the words. And yeah – okay. _Okay_.

Might be she picks out the clink then whir to Rio getting his jeans open. Or could be that giggle reviving is attributable to her own, possibly tickling, motions.

Either way: “Naked. Now.”

He catches her swallow in exquisite detail. She must have the phone pressed into her face.

“Who’s saying I’m not.”

Then he’s hearing swishes, the sort that’s suspiciously similar to a soft satiny substance shoving off shoulders. But still, or possibly extra actually, _yeah_. Very yeah. That’s a nice fucking visual. One he’s familiar enough with to provide all the subtleties of – how her tits bob with the actions; the way his mouth saps over revealed skin, whatever the speed.

Anticipation’s building durable as he thumbs his cockhead, attending to the slit, before noodling south against vein. He keeps it slowish, this don’t strike as rushing hour.

“You missed me.” His own voice surprises Rio with how clogged it sounds. Like he’s gulped a swig of tea without realising a certain someone’s dumped a fat spoonful of thick unstirred honey in it, assuming that’d dissolve by magic.

“Yeah,” she says. A _few_ damn times.

“I gotta tell you when you’re getting loud?”

  
There’s a delay to Elizabeth’s tut, as if it’s hard work to break the surface of her consciousness.

“I know what I’m doing.” _There_ ’s that ice.

Rio hums. “That right?” His tone perhaps leans a little too smug, too fast; an irked trim grows on her groans. “That why you gotta call me to get off?”

“What!” Elizabeth snaps. And she starts up, predictably: “That’s. Not–”

But he breaks in. “Don’t stop.” His grip round his girth's gone almost _agonisingly_ acute, no longer grounded basking.

Her noise is disgruntled. But it’s also – other things with it.

“You stopping?”

“No,” she chews off. That gets him grinning broad.

“Go on.”

“I’ve been doing this longer than you! And I– I–”

“…You?”

“ _I_. Ah.”

Soon she’s crumbled to guttural whines. He thinks, as his fingers dip to tingly balls, that maybe he should be doing more. Saying something. Not simply _breathing_. But – that almost doesn’t present as what she’s after. And he’s willing to play the waiting game, least a short while longer.

Cos it’s fucking seductive as anything. Attending Elizabeth blowing apart over – shit, over nothing really. To hearing him, what, exist. To _herself_. To sharing it.

His name blends across her fanfare. Those noises raise in volume, but he also notes a thump. Like she’s thrown a cushion over her face, how he’s seen her automatically do a time or twelve. Mighta thrust the phone into her mouth with it then.

When she’s calmed down some Elizabeth practically wheezes, “Did you…?”

“Not yet darling. You hanging on?”

“ _Yeah_.”

“Okay, flip round.”

“You want me to…” Her tone is a hushed scandalised. “Put my _feet_ on the pillows?”

His laughter in response ripples rich, though admittedly also a touch distracted. Strained from how he’s fisting his cock in earnest now, desire plucking along capillaries galore.

“On your belly.”

“Ohh.”

She must manage it, if the sounds (suggesting her spatial awareness is merrily fuddled) are anything to go off.

“You really not wearing anything?”

“Mm-mm.”

His eyes slide shut as Rio lets himself embrace that. Elizabeth, in nothing, outlined against her (clearly lavender) sheet. He fleshes detail – ass staring up at him, hips jerking down.

“C’mon, get your hand back–”

“I _know_.” Elizabeth’s frothing response is all petulance-cornered. Like maybe she already _is_. Cunt fresh orgasm-soaked and her still so fucking hungry, so needing, that she remains spitting fire – edges unsanded. Thighs ever-wide.

Already his muscles feel dangerously tight, and no. He’s staying the fuck on for whatever she’s up to now.

He does some more of that tai chi breath shit. Says, “Wanna see you.”

Amid the otherwise-quiet, Rio hears her lips snap apart. It seems likely she’s gonna fill him in on logistics; reality.

“Watch you,” he adds. No – _amends_. “Again.”

It’s a gasp she makes, or close to. There’s that sudden stop to her respiration, before it picks back up.

Yeah, he knows she relished that. Is sure the exact same memory – the heel of his hand helpful against her knuckles, wedging those narrow fingers deeper – from, shit, maybe a month and change ago already, is jolting inside her too.

“But like this,” he asserts. Lets her gurgle it out before, “I could be there right now. You wouldn’t know.”

“Mmm.”

“Don’t look,” he orders. “Can’t ruin the surprise.”

“Yeah. Yes. Okay. Yeah.”

“Watching you fuck yourself. Christ, Elizabeth. You’re so _wet_. Look so good, baby. Your fingers sliding.”

It’s an effort to keep his words slow. The control of his lungs real. Tension’s building where leg flows to trunk. It’s starting to feel like there’s cotton balls in his ears, strains of static churning.

“And you don’t know what I’m gonna do.” That earns him some _slick_ moans. “Pull your fingers out. Get mine in. Or my cock, might just ram right in you. Or maybe that–”

A low buzzing starts up, too measured to be a production of his mind. It’s strangely non-deafening, her noises still clear through it.

“I went shopping,” she whispers.

“Oh?” His eyebrow feels to be making a break for sky.

“I want. Fuck. _Both_ our fingers.” Those syllables of hers barely seem tethered to the concept of human speech.

“Yeah, fuck.” Rio grunts. “Or… Let you finish by yourself. Knowing I’m there, watching. Keeping my hands off. Wait till you’re empty to bust all over your pussy. Mess you up real good.”

Shushed half-sobs spurt from her, the muttering vibrations sounding still.

“What you want?” And see, he knows – fuzzy as his reasoning has gone – pretty much as he says it, how she’s gonna reply. Full foxish. So Rio thinks he’s steeled for it.

But it’s the _tone_ of Elizabeth's, “Whatever you want,” totally wrecked and almost sombre, _that_ ’s what does him in.

“Pillow,” he puffs at her, almost belated.

He thinks he discerns a quiet, “Shut up,” though the vowels convey all wrong. And then it’s clear she’s bitten at a pillow or similar, at least shoved whatever in her face, given the muffled quality to her almost-screams.

It’s not like he can stave it far among that all. Not with the pressure building up his shaft, curling through his body, brewing release. Till electric pleasure’s jolting, pushing throe to throe. Finally come’s spurting out him in quantities suggesting he ain’t been touched in half a lifetime, that his body’s lost all sense of decorum.

After, when his head ain’t full of frantic laundryesque sloshes and he can kinda identify thoughts again, he does try to coax some details of this new purchase from her. Elizabeth’s reticent about sharing much beyond the precise shade of blue, however.

It’s a little needling, this sudden coyness. Obstinance for its own sense, it resembles. At least till she says, “I’ll _show_ you,” like _that_. And all right then. Cool.

She gnaws at a yawn, setting ‘em both laughing through a matched set of good nights.

Rio fades from awareness, smile gone on so long his cheeks practically burn. The belief’s holding to his gut that if he don’t email Rhea tomorrow ‘bout the calendar chat then, shit. It’ll be the day after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a distinct memory of saying I'd put something really mean about @septiembre in the notes the next time i wrote fluff (but also like, no idea why??) so um, her eyeballs smell weird!

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Watching the Detectives by Elvis Costello.


End file.
